


Owning Sherlock Holmes

by 221B_Johnkhanlocked



Series: Alternate Universes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BDSM, Beating, Bondage, Caging, Cutting, Dungeon, Electrical Shocks, Group Sex, Heavy Angst, Heavy BDSM, Hitting, M/M, Masters, Moriarty and Sherlock sexual contact, Murder, Nipple Torture, PTSD John, Pain, Parachute -CBT, Pinching, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sebastian and Sherlock sexual contact, Sexual Slavery, Sexual stimulants, Slavery, Slaves, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, Wrestling, cursing, deragatory/ demeaning language, implied rape, owners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_Johnkhanlocked/pseuds/221B_Johnkhanlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe with canon divergence, Sherlock and John go undercover as Master and slave in order to solve a murder to save Sherlock's twin brother, Sheffield.</p><p>NOTE: This used to be book 2 of Consequences and Cases. I found I didn't want my sweet boys to change so hardcore for this one story. I've just moved it out of C and C and set it up in its own AU so it can go deep and dark as I need it to.</p><p>I'm working a few weeks on a new C and C book 2 but will come right back into this one I promise!</p><p>Please: if you loved my sweet Sherlock in the other stories and are not into seriously dark material that includes slavery, torture, violence, humiliation and group sex/sharing, please consider skipping this one. In other words, I as the author, suggest politely NOT TO READ THIS. This book is hardcore BDSM, not 'playing' at it, not a Dom/sub romantic romp but REALISTIC portrayal of non consensual sex acts, sometimes very violent. There is murder and ANGST. </p><p>I do not condone the non-consensual aspects of this story. IT IS FICTION. Not my characters. I just torture and torment them.</p><p>Hope you enjoy the story. Put on your shock blanket if you're going in!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Pre-face to the book: Why THIS story compelled me and the real story of criminal activity, human trafficking.

Pre-face:

There is beauty in submission and the acceptance of that submission by the Dominant as a gift. In many cases, not all- nothing is ever black and white, after all- there is a loving dynamic between sub/slave and Dom/Sir/Master/Mistress within the BDSM world. It is not about the pain inflicted or endured. Many times it is about an exchange of power, the ability to help expand personal boundaries and help another person fly free. BDSM is consensual although at times it might ‘appear’ not to be.

A sub has ‘subspace’, a place that is calming and quite enjoyable. Where pain and submission drives you higher into that space. A dominant has ‘Domspace’ as well, equally pleasurable. In most cases aftercare is just as important as the session itself. Sometimes aftercare can be achieved with a single touch, at other times there can be first aid needed to clean cuts, sooth sore skin to avoid deep bruising, and of course praise and words of encouragement are good medicine that are always added. We will see that loving dynamic between Sherlock and John in Consequences and Cases Book 1: Belonging.

In this ‘book’ however I want to make it quite clear before you tackle it, that this is a unique situation that our guys find themselves in. The Predators' Club is completely fictional, however in the dark, twisted real world there may be similar places out there. John, undercover, will be expected to ‘own’ his ‘slave’, Sherlock. He will be expected to take what he wants and as a sadist, have no mercy if Sherlock cannot or will not do as he asks. This is not your typical BDSM club where guys serving are consensual and safe with each other. The unfortunate men in the Predators' club were abducted, sold to Masters. The ‘boys’ are slaves that have no rights, do not give consent and may face serious harm, even death.

I started off with a simple idea- giving Sherlock a really hardcore case to handle. Then I started to research criminal activity and discovered some facts about human trafficking that shocked me. I'm not writing a thesis paper. I won't bore you with a report but below are a few facts. It compelled me to go deep undercover with Sherlock--- not to shock readers but to bring light to the subject in some manner. I'm not a political speech writer, I don't write about history... I'm an M/M erotica/BDSM and adventure fanfic writer so I had to do it this way; explore with characters. This is the only way I know to share what I found, with a story.

DATA:

Human trafficking is the fastest growing criminal industry. Victims of trafficking can be found ANYWHERE in the world. Over 50% are female. One quarter are children under the age of 18. Some are certainly from stranger abductions but there are many situations where someone might fall victim: Run aways, the homeless, from refugee dispersement, extreme poverty in which a parent sells a child, child brides, employment fraud and the sex trade. This is just a small example. 

I certainly do not condone the non-consensual aspects of this story. IT IS A WORK OF FICTION.

Please heed the tags. I don’t want to upset anyone. If you see something you think should have had a tag, let me know.

Primary tag, non-consensual is through-out this book. It is dark and angsty. I assure you again, John and Sherlock survive. I mean I wouldn’t traumatize fans like a certain show did. 

How they come out on the other side? We’ll see.

 

EXAMPLE of what you are about to get into...

‘Sherlock deserves better than this but I can do nothing to sooth his fears, his pain. I watch as the handlers drag him out of my sight, semi-conscious and nose still dripping blood onto the conctete floor. I know I have not seriously harmed him but my heart pounds with anxiety. I just need to sit here and remember, this is just a part I am acting. It will be over soon. In order to save his life, I have to let them treat him in this manner, even if it is breaking my heart.

When I turn back to those still eating at the long table I find Master Brae is regarding me with his cold steel colored eyes. I hope to God I haven’t revealed my love for my slave in some way. If I have, Sherlock and I are in serious danger here. Master Brae nods his head at me with just a slight tip of his narrow face. He lifts the leash to his own slave, gives it a rough yank and drags the poor lad even closer to his lap. I feign disinterest. I return to eating as I observe him in my peripheral vision. One does not look away from an apex predator unless one wants to become the predator’s next meal.

“Go over to Master Harry and give him pleasure since his own slave is so worthless,” I hear him snarl. Within moments there are trembling hands on my lap reaching and finding the zipper. Swallowing lest I choke, I sit back to give him room. Frightened, yet determined, the slave’s eyes meet mine then quickly look away. He is below the table still and no-one but I has seen his grievous error. It is the only thing that saves me having to give him a hard slap to the face.’


	2. Sheffield's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheffield explains why he needs Sherlock's assistance. He regales them with how he became involved with the Predators' Club.
> 
> WARNING: Non con, abduction, rape, whipping, electrical, pain, murder, implied castration and torture, slaves, sexual slavery.

John:

“You won’t kill John.” Sherlock announces, sounding very certain of himself. I’m not so certain. Sheffield looks deadly calm and very serious in his intent.

“It would be a mistake, Sherlock, if you think I wouldn’t,” His brother replies. The gun is held steadily in his hand, still pointing directly at my body mass. Even if Sherlock were to shove me aside, I’d get grazed- likely a grievous wound- or Sherlock himself would be struck. I’m not going to go through that again.

“Sherlock, maybe you could introduce us?” I tell him, hoping to lessen the tension in the room. Sherlock seems stunned a moment then nods. 

His long, delicate hand waves grandly towards his brother, “My twin, Sheffield. Jeffery Cole Sheffield Holmes to be precise in the matter. You might have heard of him referred to as Dark Angel.”

I must look startled, I know my voice certainly takes on an edge, “THE assassin? The government agent that Mycroft went on and on about having lost control over? IS. YOUR. TWIN?”

Sheffield and Sherlock are simply regarding each other in cold silence while my head is reeling with the news. It makes perfect sense though. In a way detective Donavan has been correct, a person with Sherlock’s level of intellect and his inability to empathize with others could make one Hell of a criminal. Here, standing in front of me, is the proof.

Sheffield finally answers when it becomes evident that Sherlock is not going to, “He is indeed my twin, John. We were quiet close at one time. Even had our own special language. Plotted against dearest big brother Mike on many occasions.”

“We WERE close,” Sherlock confirms with a snarl. “Right up to the point when you betrayed your government and this family.”

“I betrayed my government? This family? You have NO idea do you, what ACTUALLY occurred? You believe EVERYTHING our dear brother tells you, Sherlock? I am doomed if that is the case!” Sheffield retorts. His voice and body language reflects rage and alarm. 

Before Sherlock can push Sheffield further towards killing one of us I lay a restraining hand on top of his lying over my chest. I give it a reassuring squeeze. He remains sensibly quiet as I try to calm his brother again. If I can keep him talking there is a good chance, Mycroft, being so nosey in our affairs, may have tracked Sheffield here to our flat. Hopefully he is on his way or has alerted police.

“Sheffield, I don’t know what happened to you. Why don’t you tell me?” I ask keeping my voice level and open. I drop my shoulders and relax my stance to be less of a threat. Immediately, Sheffield responds in kind. The gun hand lowers slightly. Sherlock remains stiff and on high alert. “May we sit?”

Sheffield inclines his head, only once and in a highly controlled manner. Sherlock guides me to a chair nearest the exit and sits right next to me, knees nudging mine. He needs contact and the reassurance he can come instantly to my aide should I need him. 

“We will listen and I’ll let Sherlock decide what we must do. If it is something we can help you with, I’m sure we can find a way.” I state. Surprising Sherlock doesn’t argue so perhaps he’s calming down or has deduced something I have not. “But can you lower the gun, please? I’m NOT overly fond of being shot.”

The gun is lowered to my great relief. Sheffield braces against the cabinet where he can clearly see both doors to the kitchen but is not in direct line of fire from either. He’s very intelligent and alert.

“I joined the military at Mycroft’s urging, John. This much Sherlock knows. I served in the intelligence office, often times going deep in missions to gather information. What he doesn’t know however, is that Mycroft insisted I join an elite group of specially trained commandos, one that is secret from even highly placed government officials. The training is specifically in assignations and terrorism. No, John, not antiterrorism. I see from your face it may be hard to believe. But MY government, a least a tiny part of it, trained me to kill and terrorize foreign AND domestic targets. Everyone loves a good Bourne type story but don’t realize in a large part, it’s not fiction.”

“Even if this is true,” Sherlock states suddenly, “what does that have to do with your situation today?”

Sheffield sighs. In a gesture that reminds me so much of Sherlock he continues his story, “I’m getting to that. It was all fine and good, fun even at times, until one day I was assigned to run an op to eliminate a rival for a certain politician- I won’t tell you who- although Sherlock I’m assuming you can easily deduce it. The target was the easy part. His family unfortunately returned while I was still in the house. I COULD have escaped unnoticed. I could have left them alive….wife, two young kids and a young friend spending the night… but when I requested pick-up I was ordered to kill them.”

Frowning, I verify, “They hadn’t seen you?”

“No, John. I was free and clear, in fact I was nearly at the rendezvous site for extraction. I had to go back, re-insert myself and … well, I did what I was ordered to do.”

“You killed them?”

“As mercifully as I could, I assure you. They didn’t see me at all, were not afraid and didn’t suffer. They hadn’t even found my target yet whom I had left in the shower. I’m not saying that to brag or make it seem like it was nothing to me. It destroyed me. I left that night and went into hiding from my handlers and teammates. They searched at first and then they put out death contracts on me.”

Sherlock interrupted again, “What does that have to do with US, Sheffield?”

“I could have remained in hiding forever if need be. I missed you, Sherlock, terribly. I wanted contact but feared it of course. I didn’t know what you’d been told. Lies obviously. But that is what Mycroft is good at. In any case, I heard about your ‘death’ through the grape vine. Knew it was likely another ploy so disregarded it. I’m very happy to see I was right, by the way. Even if you are not too pleased to see me…”

“Not when there is a gun pointed at John and I.”

“If I put the gun down, will you still listen? I need your help, Sherlock. I don’t know what you can do, truth be told. But I’m on the run, alone and frankly, for the first time in a long time, I’m afraid.”

I answer for the two of us, “Put the gun down and we’ll listen.”

Sheffield stares at me a moment and at his twin. Very reluctantly he lays the gun down within his reach. A deep breath seems to ease his mind and he regales us with his tale.

 

OOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo

Sheffield:

I wasn’t always ‘on the run’. I went to America, looking to get lost somewhere in a big city. It’s easy enough to do there. Americans are pre-occupied with their own worries and needs. In fact, I didn’t even really hide. I lived as Jeffery Cole, a writer of gay romance novels on the internet. My ‘real’ job was working as a janitor on night shifts in an old factory that makes shoes. Nobody noticed me or even talked to me for that matter. It was as I liked it. I could be as anti-social as I needed to be. I made friends online, lived the quiet life.

All that changed when I met Nicholas. He was a real honest to God person I ran into one early morning as I came off shift. I literally RAN INTO him, knocked his coffee all over his nice suit. He was pissed of course but my God was he sexy with that dark, disapproving look of his. Apparently, it wasn’t a great way to meet the owner of half the factories in town. After glaring at me for several minutes, he told me to meet him in the main office at the end of my next shift. Then he just walked away from me with me standing there with my eyes ogling his nice ass.

The next night my shift ended and I walked up to the office on the top floor of the factory. Everybody had gone home, even the other janitors. I thought maybe he had forgotten. There were no lights on anywhere. I thought I was alone. It had been nearly three years since my last mission, I had grown complacent and soft. The three handlers took me by complete surprise and though I fought like Hell, they over powered me with an anesthetic.

I awoke, it seemed hours later, naked and restrained somewhere dark, silent. I struggled with my bindings but there wasn’t any hope really of getting out of them. Part of our training had been how to deal with torture so I found that I was calm. I waited.

Flood lights were turned on and I found myself in a large room resembling a dungeon in a castle. I nearly laughed. It was pretty cliché. I didn’t laugh though because Nicholas stood at the doorway with a whip in one hand and a nasty looking device that looked to be a slightly revised version of a cattle prod. You don’t laugh at something like that. Besides, again I found Nicholas was sexy as fuck. He was in a charcoal colored suit that perfectly matched his eyes. I couldn’t look away from him as he approached. Hell, I was so turned on by his looks, I would have dropped to my knees and submitted to his Will had he asked. He didn’t ask. He took it from me regardless.

He laid the cattle prod down and without speaking to me, walked behind me. I knew he carried the damn whip and never having a love for them, felt my skin crawl. The sharp cutting sound was my only warning before the leather bit firmly into my back. I’m proud. I never scream or cry but that day, that moment, you can bet I did. I lost it. I fought against the ropes and chains. I cursed him in every language I know. He kept whipping me in silence, never asking anything- seemingly ignoring my taunts of revenge and my curses. Stripe after stripe he laid into me and I could not do a damn thing about it. He soon had me begging then finally all I could do was hang limply and cry uncontrollably. The whipping stopped after I had simply given up. I was sobbing and shaking.

He wasn’t finished. He walked in front of me again and picked up the cattle prod. It was shorter than the regular pole a farmhand might use. It was red and fit perfectly in his hand. He grabbed me by the back of my head, by my hair and came quite close. Inhaling deeply, taking in my scent like a damn vampire might just before he bites, he stared into my eyes. There was no compromise in them. He wasn’t a man that bends to anyone’s will. I spit on him in anger. I expected a hard slap but he simply regarded me with dry amusement. With a perfectly manicured hand, he wiped away my spittle. He lifted the rod where I could clearly see it and without releasing my head, touched my nipple with it. God, the pain was intense! I screamed for him then to stop. He ignored me and touched it too my skin over and over. He zapped my belly, my chest, my arms and thighs. He looked away only to see where he was with his implement of torture then he’d look back into my face. He was only inches away and smiling. I couldn’t control my reactions as I wanted. I desired to scream profanity at him, to break lose and kill him. He pushed me through all of that. To the point I couldn’t do anything but breathe and survive. Again, he only stopped after I had been conquered. I both hated and oddly enough, admired him for that. Look, I enjoy some pain. Had been in a few dominance and submission scenes at a club. But this? This was beyond all that. It wasn’t consensual and it wasn’t about guiding me through the pain towards pleasure. This was a sadist taking what he wanted, enjoying my pain and defeat. When he laid aside the cattle prod and brushed the hair from my sweaty forehead, I think it was then, I felt a stab of passion. I wanted him to control me. I needed this. A connection with another human. I hadn’t had that in a very long time.

He worked quickly to release my bonds and I was so exhausted I didn’t even put up much of a struggle. I did try to get up when he manhandled me over to a huge wooden table but it really wasn’t much of an effort. I groaned as he laid me, chest down, ass over the edge of the table, and secured me with leather bindings on both wrists and across my waist. He kicked my legs wide apart and fastened them so that I could not pull them together. It’s a classic position for only one thing- rape. Trembling, I could do nothing more than anticipate his entry.

I didn’t have to wait long, he had lubed his fingers and dribbled some down my crack. Within moments he had a firm finger pressing against my hole and breached it as I cried out. He wasn’t some gentle lover. He opened me with real force, adding a finger after every few thrusts. I had no time to adjust. It was the worse pain I had ever felt. I begged, pleading wholeheartedly for him to just give me a moment. I’m gay, have had a few lovers. I knew I could accept his entry if he’d just give me that curtesy. He continued to plow his hand into me, opening me roughly. In a way it had been a kindness to stretch me as much as he could. As he pressed his cock then inside of me I could feel that he was quite large and thick. It felt like a bottle being shoved inside. Perhaps I fainted, I’m not certain, but the pain was so intense and I couldn’t take it. I remember darkness closing in and I welcomed it. Whatever occurred though, it didn’t last long at all. I came to, shrieking just as loudly as before.

The odd thing is, he never once said a word to me. He enjoyed himself. He came then inside me with a final brutal thrust and pulled out so quickly that I’m sure I was gaping back there, fucked raw. He patted me on the head like some stupid beast. I heard his zipper go up and then he left me there, panting and crying. I wanted so much for a kind word, any reassurance I was going to be ok. But I was alone, tied and completely undone.

 

OoooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 

 

John:

“That’s a very traumatic event, Sheffield, I’m surprised you didn’t go into shock.” I tell Sherlock’s brother.

“Handlers soon came in and checked on me. Even a doctor visited and cleaned me up. I wasn’t given pain medication but the hot shower they drug me into felt delicious and soothing. I simply had no fight in me… well, not immediately after my first time. Later, yes, I fought like Hell at every opportunity. Each time I was punished severely but I suppose as a masochist, I can tolerate or build up to tolerate quite a bit. Eventually though, I submitted fully to Master Nicholas. Hell, I’d even say that I came to understand his needs and though he still took me as he wanted, and never really with my consent, I could even say I loved him in some manner. ”

I frown at that, “You were his slave in all sense of the word; it actually isn’t uncommon for a victim of such violence, having no hope of reprieve, to feel some connection like that.”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Sherlock adds.

“Yes, I know,” Sheffield replies. “I lived that way for almost four years.”

“But that recently changed,” Sherlock deduces. “In another violent way?”

Silently, his twin nods in agreement. He dips his head in sorrow and pain, running a hand through the unruly ginger curls. He’s not had a shower, most likely, for several days.

“I assume Mycroft is either not coming to our rescue, John, or he’s waiting for something. I think we have time enough to feed my brother something and allow him to clean up.” Sherlock announces rather surprisingly. 

“That’s what I was thinking,” I tell him.

Sheffield looks confused and concerned. His face mirrors exactly that of Sherlock when he’d found himself frightened by a large hound. Sheffield is in unfamiliar and unexpected territory with our kindness.

“You’ll do all that, for me?” He stammered.

When Sherlock rises, his twin lifts the gun again but it wavers and then is set back down. Sherlock lays a hand over his brother’s own. “Yes, I’ll try to help you but for now you need to rest, eat and clean up.”

An hour later, Sheffield looks much better. He’s showered, shaved and changed into Sherlock’s clothes. As he drinks his coffee and munches on toast, Sherlock asks him to continue his story. 

 

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Sheffield:

As I said, I might have lived as Master Nicholas’s slave for the rest of my days. He became fond of me I think and he belonged to this unique BDSM club, a private one for slave owners. No slave there has consented to this treatment I must add. So it wasn’t like the legal clubs like Edward’s Exposure. It’s called the Predators’ Club for that very reason, sadists bring their victims for sport and torture, humiliation and sometimes punishment for some misdeed. Master Nicholas took me there to show off his skills in controlling me. No-one was allowed to touch me so I was safe as far as that was concerned. I’d learned Master’s whims and needs. In a way, I trusted him completely. At times, it was way more pain than I could handle. In fact, most visits to the club I passed out from exhaustion and or pain. I’d awake at same point on the way home.

I got to know a few of the other slaves as we were often tossed into cages while awaiting our turn to be brought out to the group of about 20 to 30 Masters. They didn’t all own slaves and had come hoping someone might share. If not, they would stand back and enjoy the suffering of the slaves on the stage and come with their hands stroking their own dicks. I ignored the other Masters. Most were evil fucks and I didn’t want anything to do with them. One was absolutely insane and I had seen him cut the balls right off of his slave. Purely for his amusement. The slaves were all men, most of them in their twenties or thirties. A few were twinks, quite young and innocent looking. I felt badly for them. They had never known love or kindness. Never had felt a lover’s touch. Instead they had been abducted and raped violently. Now they served one master if they were lucky. If not, they were shared with many. Used and then sold. Never to be seen again. I was actually grateful to have Master Nicholas.

Sherlock, you are correct. This all came to an abrupt violent end just two weeks ago. I can scarcely believe it’s been that long. The reason I escaped is that a master took pity on me and helped me but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Master Nicholas had just demonstrated an elaborate new tie technique he’s seen at a club in Japan. He’d suspended me at the height he could easily take me as hard as he wanted. And force fuck me he had. Again, I was barely prepped for it. Only a fast hand in to push lube into my hole. Then he sat a fast pace that included a pull to my collar with each thrust. It was choking me and when you can’t breathe you can’t adjust to the treatment. He received a round of applause when he thrust into me and stayed there, enjoying my sobs and moans. Then just as I expected him to pull out he released a hot stream of piss into my aching hole. He’d done that on numerous occasions at home. I was used to it. But here, I blushed from the humiliation of being his toilet. He slid out finally, untied me and set me on my feet. I slid down to my knees and waited obediently for his next command. It never came. 

I know the whispering odd sound a silenced gun makes. I heard it and felt as the bullets passed my head by mere centimeters. I was too fucking stunned to move. My Master was taken by complete surprise. He grunted and looked down at himself. Three red spots blossomed against his shirt. Even the handlers standing nearby didn’t react at first because no-one but I had heard the deadly shots. But when they saw the blood, they screamed out that there had been gunshots. Master Nicholas collapsed to his knees in front of me as if in slow motion. The there was a flurry of movement as Masters and a few slaves scurried either away from us or towards us. I took him in my arms but I could tell, he was dying. I looked into his pain filled eyes and for some reason, maybe I was so shocked by it all… but I knew he could hear me and understand… he understood too that death was coming for him… I told him I forgave him. He nodded. Then that was it. He died in my arms.

I can see, dear brother, you want to know what else I observed. Well, I did get a glance of the gunman, I think. It was a Master I had never seen before. In an expensive suit. He was taller than you and I and broader. But he moved with real grace. No-one saw him and after they had removed Master Nicholas’s body no-one said they had seen anything. The police of the town were well bribed, the police chief and mayor being members there anyway. So it was going to be unsolved.

 

OOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

John:

“But they couldn’t leave it that way, obviously,” Sherlock remarks.

Sheffield finished another piece of toast and sips now at his coffee. He shifts in his chair to regard his twin, his eyes the same strange mix of ever shifting colors. “No, Nicholas was a well-known business man. He had been murdered. They needed a scape goat.”

“You were that scape goat?” Sherlock verifies his deduction.

“Yes, naturally. They set up evidence quite easily. And decided to let a police officer ‘chase me down and shoot me in a struggle’. In reality they tossed me into a large room to await my fate. As it turns out, as I said, a master- ha, the one I told you was insane- he saved me. He gave me some clothing, nearly a thousand dollars in small, untraceable bills, and simply allowed me to escape out the door he left unlocked. I have no idea why…. Well, I change that remark. I learned his identity after I returned to England… as I had been in Nicholas’s home for years with no outside contact I had no idea that Moriarty had survived his suicide. I’d never seen him before so as he assisted me I had no idea who he was at the time but your enemy, Moriarty, is hiding out in America. I still have no idea why he helped me unless it was purely the fact we are identical in looks. I don’t know if he figured out that I am your twin. He may have deduced it, of course.”

I am stunned, so much so I think my mouth is hanging slack a few moments, “Moriarty is in the States. And he helped you escape.”

“Yes,” Sheffield confirms. He glances at his brother’s face with some real sympathy. Moriarty has been a real threat to us. “I am being hunted by the Masters at the club, by the American police force and by my own government. I need help. I think the only answer is to find the real killer and prove my innocence. I can deal with Mycroft then and not have to worry about the Americans too.”

“Providing me with the opportunity of locating and subduing Moriarty, a bonus," Sherlock answers, seeming quite pleased with whatever it is he is planning. He adds, for my benefit, “I’ll need to go undercover.”

Startled, I state rather than ask, “You are planning to go undercover…at the Predators’ club- posing as your captured twin brother.”

Sherlock takes my hand securely into his own, before nodding quietly. He knows that I am dying inside.

“Fine,” I tell him firmly. “I’ll go undercover with you as your Master. That way I can assist you, protect you and bring you home quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought for a minute John was going to refuse. But Sherlock needs him.  
> I appreciate that you took the time to read through this and my other stories.


	3. What, exactly, are we getting ourselves into?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, exactly, are we getting ourselves into? - the author wants to know too.
> 
>  
> 
> In order to see if they can handle being undercover, in this chapter, John, Sherlock and Sheffield have requested to view a Master/slave private presentation at the club Exposure. 
> 
> In this chapter, the players use the titles of master and slave. Even if it doesn't appear to be so, it is consensual.
> 
> Tags: There are loads of BDSM elements here and I'll try not to miss one!  
> #Slaves, whipping, pinching, hitting, parachute, CBT, electrical shocks, nipple clamps, bondage, caging, implied rape.

John:

As the whip cracks over the slave’s back and he cries out sharply around the gag in his mouth I wonder aloud for the second time, “What, exactly, are we getting ourselves into?”

Sherlock winces as the demonstration continues in front of us and when the whip falls again he turns his head away from the sight as though he can distance himself from it. If he reacts this way now, what the Hell will happen when it is the two of us, undercover, and running a huge risk with our lives? 

“Sherlock, I’m not sure we can or should do this. Is it worth the risk?” I query. “No offense, Sheffield.”

“No offense, John. It is very dangerous.”

“Shall they continue, gentlemen?” Edward, the club Exposure’s owner asks us politely. We have arranged a private demonstration with him and a Master/slave team. The Master has stopped a moment and waits quietly, one hand laying gently on the boy’s arm. I know I cannot even give Sherlock that much reassurance when we are in place at the Predators’ Club.

“Yes, we need to see this. John must perform flawlessly,” Sherlock murmurs, forcing himself to turn back to the stage.

A quick nod from Edward and Master Quinn resumes the session. He drops the long tailed whip onto a table, snatches the boy’s head roughly by the hair and growls obscenely into his ear, “Wake up, slut. Have I been boring you?”

He presses relentlessly into the sweaty, swollen and striped skin on the boy’s back with one leather glove and reaches around to stroke roughly at the soft cock. After a moment of this treatment, it starts to lengthen and swell in his palm. He laughs and tells his slave, “You pig, I dare say you are enjoying this!”

Growls of denial are followed by the slave’s moans of pleasure. Master Quinn drops his hand from the boy’s chest to rub his own cock beneath the leather trousers, seditiously leering at the sounds he is provoking. He pushes his hips forward into the crack of the slave’s ass and pumps his hips into him, “I’m going to take this sweet hole, little pig. I’m going to open it wide.”

Master Quinn steps around to the front, ignoring the boy’s garbled protest. He grasps him by the back of the neck, trapping his head between strong fingers. The slave cannot retreat from the man controlling him. It is a powerful display of dominance and I find myself highly aroused by it. The Master simply leans in too close for any human being’s comfort and stares hard into the wide, frightened eyes. The boy moans in supplication and I catch a soft sound from my own submissive. I don’t glance at Sherlock but I’m certain we are both sporting solid wood for this. Master Quinn kisses the lips around the ball gag, nibbles on chin and cheek before he uses his tongue to lap a few times around the boy’s nose, lips and eyes. The boy groans and pants through it all. His cock is a dripping mess of longing.

“Such a pain pig,” Master Quinn states to the quivering slave as he backs away. “Listen to you! You NEED this!”

He quickly grasps the boy’s pink nipples, pinching them hard and twisting. He nearly yanks the boy completely off his feet with the tugging. The cry that follows this treatment is sharp and loud even behind the gag. The boy also curses and Master Quinn smiles at him almost delighted.

“Bad, piggy! No words, only squeals of pain!”

The slave hangs his head in shame but Master Quinn lifts his face by the chin. Once the boy is looking at him again, the Master spits into his face and rubs it all over, chuckling darkly. “Ah, poor little thing, is this hurting? I know you like it!”

He dips his head downwards and his lips latches onto a nipple, sucking the tiny nub into his mouth. One hand begins its assault again on a nipple while he applies strong suction to the other. The boy thrusts his hips forward helplessly as he responds to both the pain of pinching and the pleasure of being mouthed. Master Quinn makes sure the slave’s cock can not reach his body to hump against it- almost but not quite- it is torturously close. With a soft laugh at the boy’s groan of disappointment, he bites down rather savagely on the nipple still in his mouth. As the slave screams in pain, pre-cum oozes out in long, silvery strings. Master Quinn slaps his belly with his leather covered hand. He doesn’t seem pleased by the muffled grunt he receives for his effort. Roughly he grasps the boy’s head and pulls the gag free.

“I want to hear you beg and scream, slut.” Master Quinn announces, tossing the gag to one of the handlers standing silently waiting nearby. The man is sporting a huge monster of a cock and is slowly stroking it as he watches the session. I fight the urge to follow suit. I’m supposed to be learning here.

Master Quinn grasps the boy’s balls at their base and pulls downwards quite hard. My own balls want to hide after seeing this treatment. The expletive the boy unleashes lets us all know just how much agony he is in. His Master ignores the cussing and pleading but instead pulls them away from his helpless body even further. Words turn to shrieks as the master then grabs his whole package in his hands, pulling still and twisting. 

“These things are mine, worthless pig! I’ll do with them whatever I want.”

He turns to the other handler and demands for a parachute to be brought. I’ve seen them many times before but had never applied them to Sherlock. I am rather fond of my boy’s salty nuts and love to nibble on them. I don’t want to risk damage to my favorite part of his anatomy. I observe carefully as the master snaps the device in place at the base of the slave’s cock.

It is a simple contraption that belies the amount of pain it can inflict. It looks like one of those cones of shame they put on dogs, only leather of course and smaller. I’ve seen some with spikes inside that add irritation to the taught skin of the ball sack. This wasn’t that sort. Parachutes have strong chains dangling beneath. To this one, the master adds several small weights and releases them from his grip. As they drop downwards they yank the balls quite tight within the sack. The boy cries out and then whimpers rather pathetically. I’m sure the pain is nearly too much for him.

“My cock, my balls! You can just SHUT THE FUCK UP and TAKE IT!”

Trembling, the boy jerks in fear as the master simply reaches for the parachute. Mind games can really fuck with you. He starts to sob uncontrollably even though the Master has not touched his aching package. A sneering laugh issues from his master who suddenly is kneeling in front of his slave.

“Oh, poor piggy, scared? What am I going to do to your pathetic, little dicky and balls? Hmmm? Maybe bite? Maybe flick them a bit?”

With that, his luscious mouth encompasses the shrunken cock and works at it with real gusto. Almost immediately there is evidence of the boy hardening again as it slides roughly in and out. One hand raises, catches the chain by the weights and pulls downwards. The sounds from the boy are a strange mix of shrieking and moaning. I feel my own cock strain against the fabric of my jeans.

After the master hardens the cock in his mouth he lets it pop free to be ignored again. He flicks the swollen head with his hard fingers making the boy hiss and shake. Master Quinn snarls as he stands and grips the base of the quivering cock and ball sack, squeezing the punished flesh beneath the parachute. 

“You don’t deserve pleasure, do you, slut? Only pain? You are so pathetic.”

Master Quinn reaches for a flogger lying nearby and proceeds to slash it at the slave’s trapped balls and straining cock. Almost like a lovely dance, as the leather snaps forward the boy pulls away then thrusts forward again. The flogger never seems to rest. It visits one sensitive nipple then the other, moves across the bare belly and strikes the cockhead that is once again spewing boy juice. Over and over, the flogger swishes and revisits punished flesh as the boy struggles to bring his arms down or to close his legs. When he finally hangs limply, having completely surrendered, the last few strokes cross his belly and the balls, setting the weights swinging. His head hangs and sobs can be heard now that the flogger has completed its work.

“Give me the nipple clamps,” Master Quinn orders. As he waits for a handler to comply he punches several times his slave’s chest right over the pectoral muscles. The boy grunts and twists his body away as best he can. He looks to be dazed and worn down. Soon the clover leaf clamps are handed over to his master. Holding them where the slave can clearly see them, Master Quinn laughs at the fear he sees and remarks, “These don’t hurt. Don’t look so scared, slut. They’ll make your little dicky drool all over the floor.”

“Please,” The slave barely whispers. His body is shaking. 

“Oh but I want to hear you scream again! Don’t you know how delicious that makes me feel?” 

Master Quinn grasps a nipple again in his fingers, teases it and pinches at it lightly at first. Then with rather brutal force he opens the clamp’s jaws and allows them to crush the nipple in their grasp as they close. I feel a bit sorry for the lad as he shrieks in pain. If it had been Sherlock I would have waited for him to adjust to it and settle down but Master Quin moves right away to the other side. He licks at the other nipple and the boy's cries turn to guttural grunts of passion. With another pinch, he applies the second clamp and taking both in his hands, twists until the boy has to rise onto his toes, gasping deeply to fuel his next shrill cry.

“Bring the meat down and put it in the cage,” Master Quinn commands the handlers as he steps away from his quivering victim. I think perhaps- surely he is finished, the boy can take no more but as the handlers loosen bindings from the ceiling hook and drag him to the standing cage nearby, the master is collecting a ‘zapper’, a nasty short device with a tip that delivers a bite of electrical shock. I have never used one as I prefer to use the lesser sting of the violet wand on Sherlock.

The standing cage is barely tall enough for a tall man to stand inside and only wide enough be inside in an upright position. A slave cannot sit though he could turn if not bound. There are several opening in cross bars where this slave’s hands as well as his cock and balls are pushed through to be exposed to the master’s whims. Once they are closed with a nasty little sounding clicks from the locks the boy cannot lower his hands to protect himself. He cannot even reach his poor cock which bobs just beneath them. The door is latched firmly closed and the slave could only watch as his master approached with the toy in hand.

His eyes grow large and he makes an honest attempt to plead his way out of the cage. I know that Quinn is truly this boy’s Master, that they live together and work together in the same garage… that they never use safe words…. that there is nothing the boy can do to stop the scene. He has to trust his master to know when he’s passed his limits, when he can take no more. Sherlock is going to have to learn to trust me to this degree.

“I’m going to teach you, pig, that you are mine! All of you! I’m going to zap every single thing that I own!”

“No,” The slave protests, watching his master walk around behind him and out of his vision. When his master reaches forward and uses one hand to expose his tight hole the boy whines again.

“Bad, Piggy! You know I need to do this! You are making me do this! How else will you know what is mine?”

Master Quinn lifts the red tip of the zapper to the hole and there is a hiss and pop of current.

Zap!

It is a more painful bite than the violet wand I use on Sherlock and I hear him hiss in sympathy next to me. The boy’s yelp reverberates through me, driving me closer to the edge. It’s a good thing I do get some pleasure from inflicting pain. If I didn’t we would be in serious trouble if I couldn’t pull off being a sadist perfectly.

Zap! Zap!

The hole is punished a few more times, each one accompanied with the appropriate cry from the slave. Before the nerves can be overstimulated and numbed to its effects, the master moves towards his boy’s front.

With his free hand he strokes the boy’s face, wipes away tears and even shoves his fingers into his mouth for him to gag on and suck passionately. His eyes are begging for mercy. Master Quinn chuckles and lowers his hand and lightly touches a nipple clamp. More tears flow but the boy’s body is enjoying every second. The cock waves at him for some attention. He strokes it a few times, licking his lips.

“See? I told you! You love this, you little slut. Just look at that pathetic cock dripping piggy juice all over my nice floor. You know I don’t think the handlers enjoy cleaning up after you!”

Master Quin turns to a handler and points at the slave’s cock and the mess it is indeed making, “Isn’t that disgusting? You think it should be allowed to go unpunished for that?”

The handlers both shake their heads no. Hell, I’m shaking my head no.

The master laughs at their answer and at the boy’s tragic face. He beacons the two men over closer to the cage. They stand right next to him, stroking their cocks languidly.

“See, you disgusting pig? They think you are making a mess and need to be punished for it? Don’t you have something to FUCKING say to them?”

A whimpering stammer, “I’m so sorry, Sirs, for making a mess with my piggy juice.”

“Shall we forgive it, gentlemen?”

Hell no, I think. The handlers voice the same opinion. 

“Then why don’t each of you punish it for its grievous error.”

He steps aside then and hands the zapper to one of the handler. The other gets close to observe his buddy at work. The boy, frantic and afraid begins begging in earnest but the two men ignore him.

“Three from me to that naughty little piggy dick,” The handler states as he brings the zapper very close to the dick in question. Anticipation drives the boy into panic. He pulls as hard as he can on his hands but he is going nowhere.

Just as the first touch is applied of the zapper’s tip to the shaft of his cock he cries out, “FUCK!”

Everyone watching chuckles at that. The next two zaps are to the top and tip of his cock and he’s no longer cursing, he’s shrieking again for mercy. I know it won’t be given.

“It’s my turn,” The other handler remarks. “I think its cock needs one more to the head and then its piggy juice factory should be punished too.”

I wince in some sympathy as the zapper flicks against the most sensitive skin underneath the cockhead. Just as he is catching his breath from screaming loudly from this treatment, the handler grabs the chain hanging from the parachute, lifts it- eliciting its own yelps of agony- and his balls, trapped underneath it are zapped twice.

The slave is bereft, sobbing uncontrollably. The handlers take the toy away and his master approaches him after a few moments of just coldly watching him struggle.

“”You bore me, piggy. You’ll have to try harder to please me when I fuck that tight little hole. If you don’t I’m going to have to hurt you more for my entertainment.”

He instructs the handlers to take the boy down from the cage and remove the items still attached to him. Within a few minutes, trembling, he is led to his Master’s side. His face is a mess of snot and tears, his body marked with stripes, red patches and pinch marks over both nipples. His cock is still hard and yearning.

Master Quinn pulls his boy in for a long, soothing embrace and with a gentle kiss to his head, whispers something into his ear. The young man smiles shyly at his master, nods and walks off with the two handlers gently guiding him towards one of the backrooms. He’ll be cared for, bathed and allowed to rest until his master can join him.

Master Quin looks at me, sincere sadness in his expression, “I’m afraid, John, that you won’t be able to comfort Sherlock like that. He’ll just be a toy to you. Let the handlers take care of business. It’s going to break your heart though. You’ll just have to conceal that as best you can. Even now, not being able to do Cory’s aftercare is killing me.”

“Thank you for the demonstration, Master Quinn. I hope we don’t have to keep you much longer,” I tell him. 

“Do you have questions? Concerns? Only chance you'll get before you two head out.” Edward inquires.

I turn to Sherlock and look him deep in the eyes, “I hate to admit this, Sherlock, but I don’t know anything about how any of that feels or effects someone. You know me, as a doctor I feel obligated to you to understand what I’m putting you through… asking of you.”

“You wish to submit to this? Experience what he will?” Master Quin asks.

“I suppose I have to, yes. At least a bit,” I answer reluctantly. “Believe me, it’s the last thing I ever thought I’d ask. Usually I can test things on myself. But obviously, I’ll need a Master in order to experience the complete submission of a slave.”

“I can work with you, John,” Master Quin offers abit too eagerly for my taste. 

“I appreciate that…”

Sherlock interrupts abruptly, setting a hand on my knee almost possessively, “We are exclusive to each other!”

“That may be hard to carry off at the Predator’s Club…” Sheffield states grimly. He leans forward to speak with us, “A few Masters there are exclusive or only allow certain individuals to touch their slaves. I’m just saying, well… I think you understand the situation. You’ll have to be presented as a badass master with no qualms killing those that disobey you, John, in order to protect him. But still… things come up.”

“I’m certain Mycroft can help craft the illusion and back story for him but John will have to perform it flawlessly,” Sherlock restates.

“Don’t worry about me, it’s you that will be in the greatest danger. I’m certain there may be times the situation will not be under MY control and times you will not be in my presence.” I say to my partner.

Sheffield nods a confirmation.

“What matters at the present is that you receive the training YOU need, John,” Sherlock says firmly, “But as I said we are exclusive. It may be that you can’t always protect me from others during our undercover work, John, but right now… we do not need to share.”

“But you are my submissive, Sherlock.”

Edward interrupts, explaining, “Well, now hold on John, you probably do not know this but Sherlock has assisted other Masters in working their slaves and in quite a few demonstrations before you came into his life, he filled the Master role. I think you’ll find him to be quite intimidating and controlling.”

“Ha, intimidating and controlling?? Sherlock?? I’m sure he makes a GREAT fucking Master!” I growl towards Sherlock with real sarcasm dripping from my tones. I add, “Your life seems to hold a plethora of secrets, you know. We need to discuss that sometime.”

“We will, John. When we come home.” He reassures me calmly.

“Good, something to look forward to,” I counter.

“Are you ready to submit to me, John?” He asks. He leans forward, applying full pressure on my thighs from his hands taking his weight. He steals a quick kiss that I wouldn’t mind continuing forever. It seems like an odd moment to realize I’m really in love with this man. He will do anything I need him to do. I trust my life in his hands, completely.

As he pulls back, I am slightly dizzy. Feeling like I’m jumping into the deepest part of the ocean, not knowing if I’ll drown or survive, I nod and state, “Yes, I suppose I must be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was hard to write. Phew! I know when it is Sherlock hurting and commanding John it's going to torture me. Thanks for reading, giving kudos and commenting! Love to my brave readers!


	4. John's Submission.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, in order to get a personal understanding of what Sherlock will face as a slave, agrees to submit to him.
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> TAGS: #Cursing, humiliation, bondage, nipple clamps, slapping, caning, flogging,gags, and implied rape. ANGST!

John:

As Sheffield and Edward decide it is best to let us have some privacy for this matter, I soon find myself alone with Sherlock and Master Quinn. My heart is thundering as they speak together quietly in a distant corner. Sherlock has instructed me to wait here in this one particular spot on the stage for his return. I’m still thinking about this, whether I should go through with it or not. I’m pretty certain my head is screaming to flee, my heart is wanting to stay to show Sherlock I trust him and my cock is definitely curious what it will be like to be owned and used. Basically, I’m a nervous wreck. I am standing here giving over my control to a sociopath. A high functioning one… well, sometimes high functioning and I’m giving him consent to do as he wishes. I MUST be insane.

Sherlock moves towards me with a pair of leather cuffs and section of sturdy chain in his hands. That ratchets up the fear level right there….until I make a crazy decision… if I’m a slave and they are going to take what they want I might as well give them a run for their money, take on the role completely and fight them to make me submit to them. As he reaches for my wrist, I twist away and growl, “Fuck off, FREAK. Don’t touch me!”

Bravely I bark a laugh at Sherlock’s startled expression. I’ve caught him off guard and I have the advantage. I’m still dressed, determined to escape and feel ridiculously bold. I push past him and head towards the stairs. I’m almost at them when a hand seizes me roughly by the shoulder and spins me hard down to the ground. Within moments, a very angry Master Sherlock is pinning me flat on my back, arms locked under his knees. I’ve never seen this flint color of his eyes before. Not certain what it means, I wiggle and curse at him regardless. This is kind of fun- being a rebel.

The slap across my face is another sudden shock. I’ve hit him in the face- ONCE- at HIS request and several times in anger over his faked suicide, which is understandable I think. I have never slapped him in anger during a play session. I still myself and glare up at him. “Hey, don’t HIT me!”

“As my slave, I’ll treat my property as I see fit.”

Fuck, he’s not kidding. I kick my feet against the ground but can get no purchase. “I’m NO slave! Release me!” I growl at him.

Sherlock shifts his weight so that he is sitting squarely across my diaphragm. It hurts and makes it harder to breathe. I’m not liking this. Slowly, he pulls a pair of leather gloves from his pocket and I watch him don each one, smoothing out each long graceful finger.

“You’re heavy, get off, Sherlock!” I demand hotly. I’ve had enough.

With a smile that seems rather dangerous rather than comforting, Sherlock merely shifts again, this time putting his full weight upon me. I can barely sip in any air at all. The military training and survival mode kick in and I struggle in earnest. I get one arm free but within seconds Master Quin has assisted Sherlock and holds it down. I shake my head as darkness seeps in, denying to myself that I am already losing to them. I really hate this, that I cannot defend myself. Tears form from my struggle to breathe properly and slide coldly down my face. I put a plea for mercy in my eyes and though, not a praying man, I send one of those up too. Please let him get off a second… I’m not sure this was such a great idea. The world is growing grey and distant…

Someone has moved me, I can tell… slightly cold and disoriented, I seem to be naked, blindfolded and tied in a standing position with my arms over my head. I’m NOT gagged though and they’ll pay for that mistake. I’ll stay quiet enough but whomever dares to come near my mouth is going to lose something. I’ve never been angrier in my life. There is no fear for the fury has burned it away cleanly. It gives me energy.

I hear them talking not too far away. I’m certain my small movements has given the Deduction Machine Asshole evidence that I am fully conscious again. Someone is now standing quite close to me. Is it Sherlock? A hard hand lands on my chest, grabs a nipple and pinches it in a very tight grip, crushing it, while a hot lava mouth feverishly sucks at the other. I shout in surprise. “Let go of me, Damn it! I’m serious!”

The mouth turns from firm lips to sharp teeth, biting down hard. That hurt! Growling I let fly every curse word I’ve ever known- which for a military man is substantial! As the mouth and tongue slowly travel upwards I catch Sherlock’s scent. I relax a little knowing surely my boy won’t hurt me too badly. Yes, he’s knocked me out but I have done that several times to him haven’t I? We are even on that I suppose.

His tongue presses against my throat and slides firmly into my pulse point under my jaw. Suction is applied. My God does this feel good! Before I can help myself I moan in pleasure. Being Sherlock’s ‘slave’ is going to be easy. I’ll just enjoy myself, thank you very much.

A hand grips the back of my neck and pulls me close for a kiss. His tongue enters my mouth, demanding control. Since this is a lovely feeling, I’ll let him. He swirls it over and around, pushing it in and out deeply as if he’s fucking my mouth with it. I’m certain my cock is oozing all over the damn floor now. God this man can kiss. I’m lost in this feeling and forget that I’ve been fighting him.

He pulls away, licking softly around my mouth, sliding towards my ear. He knows I’m fucking ticklish right there. Hmmmm, knowing someone’s personal erogenous zones can be a real advantage. I try to twist my head away before he can reach the shell of my ear- to no avail. His hot breath sends shivers all the down to my toes. As his tongue flips across the outer rim and pokes into it, I growl a laugh. It really sounds passionate instead of dangerous like I had planned. His chuckle though, is dark and deep, dripping with power. It’s amazing what the sound does to my throbbing cock. As he backs away, he murmurs gruffly, “Thought my slut might like that.”

OH HELL, NO! I snarl and snap out at him, “Will take more than just a kiss, Sherlock, to get control over ME!”

A leather bound glove snatches my jaw, wrenching it open and I groan at the pressure. “A mouth that talks is a mouth that oversteps its place. Can’t have that, can we Master Quinn?”

“No, Master Sherlock, want the gag?”

“Since the little bitch can’t keep his fucking hole quiet, I’ll gag him. Later though, he’ll call me Master very respectfully. Just have to break him down first.” Sherlock remarks almost casually in that haughty know-it-all manner of his. I can imagine him- perfectly erect, head high, and a slight sneer around the tight lipped mouth. 

 

Fuck, the ball gag he is sliding in is quite a bit larger than the one we have at home. My jaws are straining already. I know from experience- a practice run on myself- that these gags make your jaws burn with desire to close in just a few minutes. I’d soon be drooling and trying in vain to swallow too. God, Sherlock was right. Knowing what is coming is not going to make it any easier to take. I just MIGHT regret mouthing off. I can’t take it off by myself when I tire of the effects either. This sucks.

He’s locked it in place, shoved far back in my mouth, pushing hard down on my tongue. I whimper when I cannot feel any give to it at all. It was starting to really hurt and again, I fight to breathe. No wonder he hates the large gag at home. My poor boy.

A whispering swish drags me away from the visions of the past and as a flogger strikes my nipple I am no longer feeling sorry for my damn submissive. The pain bursts across this sensitive area like a flower made of fire. I hiss and the sound makes drool slide out around my taught lips. I hear both Masters laugh at this and I hear the incoming flogger as well. I tense my belly but it strikes my bobbing cock instead. The shock of surprise makes me cry out. I want the blindfold off so I can see where the psychopath is going to strike next! Both Masters are talking rather casually together as if they don’t care at all about my suffering, that it isn’t even something worth paying attention to. I want Sherlock’s attention at least!

Groaning loudly I pull violently against my chained hands over my head, leaning back to do so. The flogger visits my belly, my chest and thighs as I struggle. Tossing my head side to side I try to dislodge the gag by rubbing the thick leather straps against my shoulder. It’s not going anywhere. Panting, I stop and listen. They are still discussing something… sports, maybe? Fuck them! I throw myself in a major attempt to get away from the flogger at all costs, twisting and turning, bucking and kicking out blindly. I’m sure though it looks like nothing more than a temper tantrum. Finally, I can’t fight anymore. My body aches from the thrashing, my jaw burns, and still he continues to renew the pain or find fresh unpunished places. I stand still, head down and take it, gasping for breath. There’s a silence that follows, where I’m just being watched I’m sure… or maybe they’ve walked away… I don’t know. I’m still not ready to give up but a break would sure me nice.

When the thin switch taps hard at one nipple at a time I nearly jump out of my damn skin. This sensation is completely different than the leather flogger. This is impact on already sensitized skin. I flinch and curse around the gag. Of course it is nothing, no real words can be formed. You can get the jist though from the tone.

“This is punishment for fighting the flogger, bitch.”

It is Master Quinn working me now. Where is Sherlock? I feel a bit lost and scared being under someone else’s control. I get ahold of myself, telling my body to stop dancing backwards from the painful stripes being added to my flesh. Whimpering, I shake my head. I don’t have a safe word to stop this. I’m suddenly very frightened indeed. How do I tell him I’m sorry, I want to be good? As he raps my cock I start to sob. Please, where is Sherlock.

The switch flicks against each nipple again and I completely lose it. I go boneless against the chains holding me up. I don’t want to stand. I feel so damn vulnerable. Someone steps up to me and nudges me until I stand up straight again, very weak and shaking. Since the punishment is continuing I assume it is Sherlock standing by me, holding me erect for this terrible treatment now focused on my thighs. I lean into his warmth and strength, putting my most guttural sounds into a plea for mercy- a break at least. Two more taps on my cock then blissful peace. Except the pain lingers and I swear I feel the switch just hovering over my somewhere about to bite me.

When Sherlock suddenly speaks to me almost directly in my ear, I twitch. I’ve wanted his attention just a few minutes (hours?) ago and now that I have it, I realize I probably am not really prepared for it.

“Looks like the poor thing is sorry, Master Quinn, what do you think? Shall we remove the gag and see if it has better control of its fucking mouth hole?”

“I suppose we could but to be honest I’m enjoying its little struggle.”

Sherlock chuckles at this and adds in agreement, “It is hot, isn’t it? Making me so FUCKING hard, slut.”

For my benefit only, he brings his mouth close and whispers in my ear, “And I know, your secret don’t I, John? You are a virgin still and fear being taken.”

FUCK, this reveal… this implied threat… makes me tremble in his arms and makes me ridiculously hard as HELL from his control over my mind and body. If he OWNS me, he can do whatever HE wants. My fear has nothing to do with what will happen today- won’t play a part in his decision to take me or not. And his sudden use of my name- so personal and KNOWING. The anxiety I have over receiving anal intercourse expands a hundred times over. He can’t. Oh God.  
The gag is slid from my jaws and I wiggle them back and forth several times. The movement brings back the needles and pins. Licking my lips I try to remove the dried spittle without much success. Once the pain has receded a bit, I feel better enough to beg, “Please, Sherlock. Not that.”

“You’ve just sealed your fate by talking back, slut.”

“No, Sherlock… God, please.”

He releases me and walks away to a table nearby. I had watched the two of them gathering toys on it as they had made me wait. Now I’m trying desperately to recall what they have placed there. Nipple clamps, parachute… I can’t manage to remember. I wish I had been a bit more observant earlier. My brain is a dull haze of fear and pain.

“You’ll call me Master before we end this session, bitch, I assure you that!” He tells me as he returns to my side with the clover leaf clamps. Again, I have tried them and know their bite. But that was before somebody OWNED me. Playing with toys by yourself is one thing, how will it feel when I can’t take them off when I want, when the pain gets too bad? I don’t really want to find out. I try to back away from him but manage only to move my lower body back and tug uselessly against my arms over my head. He laughs at me. “Where does my little bitch think he’s going?”

I know better than to answer a rhetorical question but I fall for it. 

“As far away from you, you fucking freak, as I can get!”

When they both smirk I feel proud of my momentary bravery even if it won’t last. I’ve probably just earned myself a really nasty punishment but frankly I’m not caring.

A change comes over Sherlock then. His eyes darken to deep pools and a lust filled leer is within them as a snarl crosses his lips. He yanks my head by the hair, glares deep into my soul and spits in my face. He growls as I try to pull away but only end up hurting myself, “This bitch needs the FUCK knocked out of him before he’ll succumb. Good I like a challenge.

“FUCK off! I’m not afraid of you OR your faggot friend!” I retort. I’m being an idiot now. I feel it in my soul that I’m pushing too many buttons but for some reason I don’t want to give in to this. If I’m going to be taken anyway, regardless of my fears then they’ll have to fight me for my submission. A gloved hand moves along my belly and strokes at my flagging cock. There’s a resurgence of blood flow again from the possessive treatment. Traitorous body. “Get your hand off me, FREAK!”

“Mmmm, quite a bad little bitch we have here, Master Quinn. Shall we find another use for that mouth?”

I glare hard at Sherlock. Surely he won’t share me with Master Quinn. I snarl and growl at them both. Master Quinn selects another gag and just before he wrenches at my mouth, I can see it is an O shaped open mouth gag of thick metal with wide leather straps. It locks the mouth open behind the teeth and leaves a sub or slave helpless to prevent insertions. It’s very unpleasant and unnerving.

Each time he tries to get in place I shake my head to dislodge it before he can lock it properly. Sherlock sees the struggle and joins him. He grips my nose and hair. I can’t keep this effort up for very long and within moments the bloody damn thing is in place.

Both men begin to feel me all over. They pinch at nipples and side flesh, slap my belly, cock and ass, and pull at my hair. I can see this is having the same effect on their cocks as it is having on mine. Sherlock pushes two fingers into my mouth and presses into my gag reflex. My eyes water as I cough ineffectively to remove them. But from this harsh treatment my cock is dripping. He lowers his free hand and from the tip, tastes my pre-cum. Watching him do so pushed me nearly to the damn edge. He knows this about me and uses it to try to break me.

“I know how sensitive these are, slut,” Sherlock murmurs to me, flicking the tught little nubs with his hard fingers. I hiss out, the only sound I can make. “Oh look at you drooling all over the place… even from your tiny dick.”

“Let’s put the clover leaf clamps on him then? Want all six, Master Sherlock?”

“Please,” He states.

Six? Why the Hell does he need six? I hope they are not for… my mind explodes as he strokes me so gently and from out of nowhere. Who knew pleasure could be so devastating. He’s handed the clamps and I know at once where they are going. I see it in Sherlock’s face. They’ll go on my nipples, yes. But they will also go on my cock and balls. They want to hide all of a sudden.

I’m correct. My left nipple is quickly crushed in a biting jaw of a clover leaf clamp and twisted just to hear me grunt wetly. He strokes the other nipple with the cold clamp at first. My heart is pounding. Helplessly I am made to observe as the clamp is opened right in front of my eyes. I shake my head and try to beg. It’s closed over the right nipple. I feel my body begin to shake from the pain. Spittle is flowing over my chin as I grunt.

“Only four more, bitch. You CAN count, right?”

Master Quinn really laughs too hard at this. These are my own words I’ve used on my boy on occasion. I fail to see the humor frankly.

The first one is opened and I watch him, wide eyed and shivering as it is lowered to my unprotected ball sack. It bites into one side. I know the next will go to the other side to mirror it. When it closes instead to skin on the underside of my cock, I gasp. Sherlock smirks. “What? Wasn’t expecting it there, slut?”  
He’s deducing me of course and taking advantage of his knowledge of how I like to make him submit. I always work symmetrically. Not everyone does. FUCK!  
The last two Clover leaf clamps are applied to the tops of my thighs, and Sherlock kneels to take my hard cock in his mouth. The pain knocks my breath away and his suction kills me. He has the clamp close to the base so most of it is being tortured in wet heat. I won’t last very if he keeps this up. Seconds from blast off he grabs the clamps and twists them. I shriek despite the gag. Master Quinn helps him by grabbing the ones on my nipples and roughly squeezes the meat into pulp. I’m in agony. I lose my erection. As Master Quinn and Sherlock taps and twists the clamps, I feel myself giving in again. This pain is becoming too much. Being denied is also painful but in a different way, of course.

Laughing and joking to each other as I retreat somewhere inside I feel the clamps pulled off, one at a time. I’m howling, choking on spit and can’t even think straight. Soon I feel my hands being untied. Tired, I collapse into Master Quin’s arms. He doesn’t sooth me, he simply lowers me to the floor. Grasping me by the scalp he drags me to Sherlock who is sitting in a chair nearby, legs spread wide. Master Quinn shoves me forward to his waiting feet and numbly I drop my head on his boots.

“Stick out your tongue, slut. You’ll have to work hard to get that gag off before I FUCK you,” Sherlock growls. “Lick my boots!”

Without hesitation, I stick out my tongue and drag it on his boots but it doesn’t please him apparently. Sherlock pushes me away, swings a cane to strike me on the back and ass. I hiss and wiggle backwards trying to avoid the painful stripes being delivered to me. He barks a laugh then that freezes my blood. With a dark sinister smile he begins to chase me around the stage with cane whacking at anything in reach. With my mouth locked open I am drooling all over the stage. I also am tired and can’t move very fast. I try to escape, but the snap of Sherlock’s fingers and Master Quinn catches me easily and drags me over to the raping frame… I am now very afraid. It is a large device where a slave is secured bent over a bar and his ankles and wrists secured. Pretty much this leaves your ass very vulnerable to ‘rape’ obviously and beatings. I’d thrown Sherlock over it from time to time for both. Right now though I am wanting nothing to do with the damn thing.

Together they have me bound and my hole quivers I am certain because my fear is overwhelming me. Sherlock steps in front of me, slides his hand back into my mouth and makes me groan around thrusting fingers. He removes his hand and taps my face with it.

“Now if you are good and call me Master, I take pity on you, bitch. You’ll be fucked regardless of how much you beg but if you are respectful AND ask me to pop your cherry, I’ll do so gently. But I warn you, one curse… one more name calling today and you’ll know what it means to be roughly taken against your will. Nod if you understand you have this ONE LAST chance to get this right.”

I nod. I understand. As the gag is released I feel like babbling my thanks but I hold back. He kneels to look into my eyes. His are dark gray with lust but there is something there… something just a bit more like MY boy. It calms me. I inhale slowly and say, “Please fuck me, Master Sherlock.”

“See that wasn’t so bad was it, slave boy?”

“No, Master.”

He nods, rises and steps behind me. I nearly cry out but manage to stifle it when I feel a sudden touch of his hand on my ass. I wish I could see his face when he breeched me. As if knowing what I am thinking he asks for Master Quinn to roll the mirror in place so that I may observe him. Mirror in front of me, I can just make out my Master’s shoulders and face. He’s staring at my hole as he lubes his fingers. With a quick lick of his lips, he presses a fingertip to the entrance. I’ve allowed him to do this before but always stopped him before he could get much further. I grunt and try to relax. The finger slides in and out deliciously. He can tell from my panting that I can take another. It burns but feels oddly pleasant as he scissors and strokes them along the fleshy walls. A third finger. Ah Jeez, my head drops a moment before I force myself to look back up at him in the mirror. His hand curls into my prostrate and I fly. My cock is stroked beneath the bar and I am stuttering incoherently. I’ve been afraid of this but now I wonder why. Pain? Yes. But Oh My God, the pleasure too.

“Are you ready, John?”

“Yes, Master,” I moan. I note the use of my name but this just endears me to my boy. He really doesn’t want to hurt me doing this. “It’s ok, I submit to you.”

I feel the firm head of his cock slowly entering then and I nearly change my mind. However he’s moving so gently, firmly pressing in, that I have time to relax my hole. It pops inside me with a grunt from both of us.

“JESUS!” I cry out. A look of concern crosses his face but I see Master Quinn shake his head at Sherlock. He’s telling him I’m ok. I’m stuffed and soon impaled as Sherlock finishes his entry and waits. When my breathing is back in control he starts a slow gliding in and out. There’s still a stretching burn but it’s not so bad really. Not as much as I had feared. He changes speed and angle just slightly and the feeling is like a reservoir of energy is being build up by each inward stroke. We are both so keyed up it isn’t going to last us long. His palm feels wonderful to pump my own cock into and I feel my balls start to tight just as Sherlock launches into a string of soft curses. With a hard thrust he spills his seed deep into my ass and freezes. Only his hand is tormenting me now. Within seconds I am yelling as my orgasm rips through me. I’d heard subs claim that pain can make them have powerful ones and now I suppose I have my own evidence. A few more lazy stokes from his hands and I shudder as the pleasure pumps out the last few drop of cum onto the floor.

I wait for Sherlock to untie me, to hold me and care for me. I’m shocked when he walks away from me silently. He grabs a towel from a table, wipes off his cock swiftly and turning to Master Quinn tells him to unbind me and get me ready to go out. He quickly storms down the stairs and exits to the restroom area. I feel completely bereft and alone. I want his tight embrace so badly it physically hurts my heart and I barely keep my tears contained.

Master Quin pulls me down from the frame and helps me take a position on all fours as he begins to wash me down with a warm washcloth. It soothes the pain somewhat and calms me. Gently, he nudges me until I look at him holding my shirt out to me. It feels so odd to slip the material over my head, I seem to float in unreality. I struggle to stand but with his support mange to get under pants and jeans back on without too much groaning. I sit in a chair to don shoes again.

Once I am finished Master Quin hands me a bottle of water. The kindness of this act overwhelms me. I never realized what an impact aftercare really plays for the submissive. Sobbing, I manage to find the words in my heart, “Master Quinn, I don’t want to do these terrible things to Sherlock! I can’t!”

There’s shushing and stroking until I’m calm enough to listen, “But you must, John. Take everything I showed you, everything Sherlock did to you and multiply it by a hundred. In order to survive this, catch the murderer, and free yourselves again it will come down to this… owning Sherlock, mastering yourself.”

After he finishes helping me get back under control of my emotions, we sit together on the edge of the stage, his arm wrapped around me.

“Why did he leave me here alone? Why didn’t he give me after care himself? I want him so badly,” I whimper, head laying against Master Quinn’s shoulder.

He pats me on the knee as he answers, “You won’t be able to comfort him. You needed to experience that too. You MUST harden your heart, John. You are an excellent Dom for him, but for this he needs a sadistic owner. You can’t show him affection and love. Not even one touch that may give you away!”

“Fuck,” I grumble.

“Yes, indeed. A very fucked up situation BUT I know you are strong, John. You proved that tonight.”

I nod, “So is Sherlock. Very strong. He can do this, I think.”

As though speaking of the devil himself, Sherlock blows into the room, freshened up but eyes distant and still cold steel. He announces to me as he passes, “We need to see Mycroft. Sheffield will remain here with Edward until this is all over. Let’s go, John.”

A swirl of dark coat and he leaves me behind, knowing I will follow as I always do. I stand up on shaking legs and shake Master Quinn’s hand.

“When we get back, he is SO in for it!” I say only half joking.

Master Quin nods grimly but manages a smile, “Karma IS a bitch.”

“John!” Sherlock shouts from the distant door impatiently.

“Just coming!” I shout back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, wow, thank you readers for the feedback. This one is a real challenge. I enjoyed though the moment when John realizes Sherlock is acting. Hope you liked it.
> 
>  
> 
> Next up, making plans with UGH Mycroft.


	5. Planning and Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John speak with Mycroft and prepare for the journey to the USA.
> 
> This one is 'plot' and sweet fluff mostly.
> 
> #Implied character death of Mary. IMPLIED...  
> #John does give something to Sherlock to knock him out. Just wanted you to know.

John:

Sherlock and Mycroft are locked in a battle unlike any I have ever seen before. Each cutting remark and counter retort were like angry, verbal blows but now that round one is finished, they are sitting across from each other, almost panting and engaged in a silent contest of wills. Mycroft raises a brow and snarls, Sherlock lifts his nose and frowns. It goes on like this for nearly an hour.

“You are being unreasonable, Mycroft!”

“As are you, dearest LITTLE brother.”

I’m going to kill one of them. If I wasn’t so sore and tired from my submission, I’d bang their heads together and demand they explain how they plan to see this through.

“Tell me where he is!” Mycroft demands hotly.

Sulking, Sherlock crosses his arms stubbornly, “You already know, don’t be ridiculous.”

“If I KNEW, Sherlock, I wouldn’t ask!”

Sherlock scoffs at this notion, refusing to budge on the subject. He counters, “He’s safe for now.”

“And you think three days will be enough to find this supposed murderer and secure Moriarty’s detainment as well?”

Whoa, when did they ever talk about a time line? I feel lost when so much of their communication is non-verbal. “Pardon, three days? That doesn’t seem like a long enough period of time, Sherlock. Not when we have two agendas, really.” I interrupt them.

My opinion and question seems to settle the brothers’ minds on the matter. They both nod, stand and move away from each other like two knights leaving a battlefield and taking a break, each in his own corner. I join Sherlock in his, the corner nearest the door. He glances idly through book titles on the bookshelf as I pour myself another glass of water from the carafe. I’m still parched. 

“Well?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he states.

This is the most ridiculous conversation style. But I know if I wait him out with a confused look he will eventually explain.

Sherlock sighs and relents, “HE wants to leave me in place for five days. I told him it is MY body and MIND going through Hell not HIS. And you are in danger, of course, so three days it is. If we do not accomplish one or either task then HE will come up with another plan. Regardless, we are extracted exactly 72 hours later.”

“And what if you need out before that?”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to do some improvising, John,” Sherlock replies. He picks up a dust covered book, flips it open then closed again. He touches things when he’s stressed. He shoves the book back into its tight spot then picks up a pen from the table. He shifts it around in his fingers, watching it twirl. Sherlock is also a nervous twiddler. I watch the pen spin around and around, and with my own nerves a bit shaky, this isn’t helping me much.

“I believe you mentioned to him you wanted me to conceal carry a weapon,” I question. He nods quietly. “How are we going to manage that?”

“It’s a conceal carry state and presumably the Predators’ club expects Masters to be strapped. A lot at stake they need to protect, I imagine. Mycroft will supply it of course as we don’t want anything to trace back to you.”

My head feels like it is spinning. “This is incredibly dangerous for both of us. I mean I understand he’s your brother but…”

“Twin.”

Exasperated, I almost shout at him, “Yes, a twin brother you NEVER mentioned in all our years together! So why are we doing this?”

Such a sadness comes over his face that I feel bad at once. I frown as he looks away from me and towards Mycroft. His elder brother has taken his seat again and is looking down at his drink as if the answers could be found there in the swirling liquid. I nudge and press at Sherlock to explain with actual words, “Talk to me, Sherlock. I need to understand.”

Mycroft interrupts, “John, I’m not sure he CAN explain. It is complicated.”

I burst then, so angry, so afraid of losing the love of my life that I expect flames to shoot out of my eyes. “LIFE IS NOT THAT FUCKING COMPLICATED! STOP THINKING THAT NOBODY CAN UNDERSTAND YOU, SHERLOCK! JUST TELL ME! NO MATTER WHAT, I LOVE YOU!”

He’s startled I can see and even Mycroft glances at me a moment. True outbursts are seen to be too emotional or something for these two. Sherlock twiddles away but does make and keep eye contact. With a long, deep exhale he tells me almost too softly, “We were VERY close, John. He’s my twin. No-one can ever be as close as two that share one soul.”

“That’s a bit sentimental for you, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think he was alive after he disappeared. I didn’t talk about him because… it hurts. I’ve closed that room in my Mind Palace, thought it was done, safely locked away. But I cannot… will not… let my twin brother die at the hands of some monster, John.”

“And what if Moriarty interferes?”

The twiddling hand freezes and Sherlock looks at me sneering at the name, “I won’t let him. I’ll rip his throat out with my bare hands if I have to.”

Mycroft grumbles at this, “I told you… ALIVE. He’s my priority, not the murderer.”

I know if I hadn’t grabbed his arm just then and guided him roughly into the next room for some privacy, the murderous look Sherlock shot at Mycroft would have been followed by the charge of a madman. As it was, Sherlock still fought me until I manage to shut the door behind me. Safely ensconced in this small waiting area I take a seat and pull Sherlock down next to me on the long sofa. 

“He’s still angry Sheffield failed a mission and went AWOL isn’t he?” I carefully ask Sherlock.

A dramatic growl. Ok, that’s my answer. I wave it off. “Ok, so not a subject you want to talk about, fine. I get it, Sherlock. But we’re about to really jump into the shit here. Are we ready?”

“Can you be sadistic to me, John? I mean really do what you need to fit us in and still get us out in one piece?”

Steady now, John. Reassure him. “Yes, I can. I’m certain we’ll have to do at least some sessions in front of the Predator’s masters. I know you can’t safe word and I can’t ask you how you are. How about we establish other ways to communicate that are not obvious?”

Sherlock looks impressed for a moment. “We already have a blink and grunt system in place for me so we can use that but we could add something for you… a squeeze to the elbow to ask how I am. Although, you know you can’t necessarily stop for me.”

“I know. But it is something anyway that might help. Ok, a squeeze to an elbow means I’m asking and you’ll respond with any of the systems we already have in place. I assume even outside the main rooms, nothing will be truly private in that place. So I’ll have to be this Master ….Harry Warner at all times… English with some German background. Good thing you helped me brush up on my German.”

Sherlock relaxes now that we have most of the real plans prepared. Kicking his long legs out in front of himself he leans his head against the wall and speaks at the ceiling. I know he wants to tell me something important… maybe even a bit sentimental… thus the lack of eye contact. “You seemed upset earlier. Not regarding our undercover case but… the session at the club. I want to explain why I didn’t stay with you AFTER, why I left you to Master Quinn.”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand. It is what I’m going to have to do to you. It’s harsh but it taught me a lot. You’ll just be an object to Master Harry.”

“No, John,” Sherlock said, daring to glance at me briefly to tell me. “Well yes and NO. That’s only a tiny part of the answer. May I tell you what I experienced at the club tonight? Share my insights? May help you get through this.”

We were waiting for Mycroft to arrange the details of the mission- we had time. I nod then remember he’s not looking at me and answer, “Yes, certainly.”

“I was impressed with your bravery, John.” Sherlock states simply. “Oh I always knew you were brave but tonight, to submit like you did, that took real courage of the heart. Quinn and I decided we would go easy on you. It was funny, when I told you to wait for me on stage… I felt… like I was pretending… like it was a game.”

I smile at him though he isn’t looking. I’m sure he senses it, “Me too, at first. Then the sadist in you came out after I fought you!”

He barks a laugh, his eyes closing to view it all in his mind. “You didn’t like when I slapped you?”

“I NEVER slap you, it made me angry, to be honest, Sherlock. I know I’ll have to treat you like property… I’m not going to enjoy it.”

He peeks at me with one grey eye opening like a sleeping dragon, “John, sadists DO enjoy it. Will you be able to get hard?”

“I’ll be fine.”

A soft snort at that. He nods then and continues, “I know damn well you can knock me out when you want to.”

Growling at him I mention, “I AM a doctor, Sherlock. You’re just a freak playing with MY life!”

“Hey!” Sherlock warns, pointing at me, “I don’t like that….word.”

I know he doesn’t. I don’t know why I have used it against him so many times tonight. Well, actually I do- if I think about it- it was my only weapon tonight when he tried to make me submit. “It was leverage. I knew it would hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No, No. It’s fine. Useful to you. In fact perhaps use it as my Master,” He says, the dragon eye closing as he went back to reviewing our session. “The blindfold?”

“Hated it. I wanted to know what you were about to do. I realize it’s useful to make a slave afraid; keep them off guard. I wanted to take it off very badly. It made the whole start very frightening.”

He sighs, knowing what I’m about to say. I say it anyway, “I’ll need to use one on you at the club, most likely. At least on occasion.”

“I assume you know that I plan to fight you every step. Sheffield would.”

“It’s hard to keep fighting,” I remark, thinking back to my own struggles and now I find I’m thirsty again. 

“You enjoyed some of it,” Sherlock tells me. 

I snort at him, of course I enjoyed some of it. Hell, he’s a sexy man. How could someone NOT enjoy submitting to him? Growling orders, commanding obedience with that fucking deep resonating voice and arrogant way of his? I wasn’t going to tell him but I was already thinking about a next time. When he turns his head and his eyes pop open in surprise I swear I nearly jump out of the chair.

 

“Are you absolutely certain that you CANNOT read my mind?” I nearly squeak. He has that way- of finding someone’s secret. It’s annoying as Hell at holidays.

“So,” He drawls with a slight grin on his face, very predator like and as unnerving as the damn mind reading. “You’d let me dominate you again?”

“This is a matter of life and death, Sherlock. We can talk about…”

Sherlock grins wider, now a predator about to pounce and consume, “That’s a yes, obviously. Avoidance of a topic, faster heart rate, sitting forwards towards me.”

“Damn you.”

“I look forward to it, John. It will be an honor.”

“I DID NOT say yes yet, you ass.”

“Yet,” Sherlock repeats. I had heard it the moment it slipped past my tongue so yes, he’s annoyingly correct. I probably WILL agree to it so why keep arguing.

I point at him now, “I DO hate you sometimes.”

With a smirk, he resumes his quiet thinking pose on the sofa. “But you also love me and will never leave me.”

“I may kill you though. That doesn’t count as LEAVING you.”

“No,” He murmurs, “It doesn’t. Might be suspicious to Gavin though.”

“Greg,” I correct automatically. Suddenly I feel so damn nostalgic and worried, heavy emotions all rolled into one big ball of nerves. I rise from my chair and sit next to him, pulling him into my arms. Normally I wouldn’t have done something so boldly sentimental in his brother’s office but Hell, I don’t care right now. I just want my boy with me and safe. There’s no fight from him which also manages to scare me a little. I tell him, “It’s going to be ok. I’ll get us in and out of there.”

“John?” Sherlock sounds uncertain. I squeeze his shoulders to urge him to talk about whatever he’s still holding back. Finally he says softly, “If I hurt you when I took you, I’m very sorry. I got carried away, I think. It was so emotional, when you submitted to me. I always wanted… I wanted to help you with that fear. I knew you’d enjoy it if you’d just let go. It should have been at home, in private, and far more gently. I never intended to hurt you, please forgive me.”  
“Baby, of course I forgive you. I know it is easy to be pulled deeply into the emotions of the moment. To do more than you intended. I was scared but you helped me through it. That’s not actually what upset me so much. It was being left at the end. I wanted connection with you again, after care.”

He wiggles uncomfortably in my arms and I tighten my grip again, shushing him. “Sherlock, its fine. I understand.”

“I didn’t give you after care because I wanted to push you away,” He suddenly bursts out. It has to be a truly overwhelming feeling he is trying to conceal to make him lose his control over it. “I can’t bear the thought that something might happen to you! Sometimes loving you HURTS. I didn’t want to go into this case with such a weakness! If you hated me, just a bit, maybe I could get through this without the worry… the fear.”

We lock eyes then and I kiss him gently, passionately. I mumble around his lips, “It didn’t work.”

He shakes his head, “No, it didn’t, made the feeling worse. Damn you, John.”

“I love you, Sherlock and I’m never leaving you.”

He heaves out a put upon, poor me sigh but no longer struggles to break free from my embrace. Inhaling my scent deeply, he adds, “I love you too and I’m NEVER leaving you.”

OoooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John:

There’s not enough time. As I sit on the private jet and look out the window at Mycroft, I review the plan a few hundred more times. Nothing can go wrong. Please God don’t let anything go wrong. 

Mycroft and I have waited nearly three hours for Sherlock. For most undercover cases he only needs a few minutes- a false nose, wig piece and contacts perhaps- plus his astounding ability to simply change personas- means he can be ready very quickly. Usually. This is not his usual case however and he’s gone away with Mycroft’s team of ‘experts’ to assist him. My foot starts to tap and I have to stop it by shifting in my seat.

When I finally see the dark car arrive, I lean forward with my nose pressed almost to the jet window. I expect to see Sherlock step out of it but it isn’t. I swear it is his twin, Sheffield. This man seems broken somehow and as he simply nods at Mycroft, I swear I see concern all over his elder brother’s features- just for a brief moment. It passes as quickly as it arrived. Mycroft nods in return and watches him climb the steps into the jet.

The door closes and is locked behind him by a crew member. I hear him tell the pilot to make way. As the engines roar to life, the young man makes his way back into the private cabin. I see at once it IS my boy but anyone not knowing him would see a stranger standing in the entryway.

Sherlock, as Sheffield, moves stiffly towards me with a slight limp. When my face obviously alerts him to my concern he waves a hand at me to deflect the question. He’s wearing his brother’s torn, bloodied clothing and this image makes me profoundly angry with the world.

He takes a seat on the long bench along the far window and I take my place next to him. He looks fragile and depressed. The red rimmed eyes are from crying I’m almost certain and not simply to add a convincing element. I hug him close to provide whatever comfort I can for as long as I can. I take up his hands and notice he’s filthy, his nails bitten down realistically. 

We sit in utter silence like that, Sherlock belted next to me leaning his head on my shoulder. He’s already weary and I let him sleep for nearly the entire flight over the pond. I close my eyes but cannot sleep. As he awakens finally he seems disoriented a moment. He stares around the cabin then settles on my face. 

“Are you ok,” I ask him.

 

“Had a bad dream. I just need distracting I think. Could you tell me a story?” Sherlock asks shakily. I take his hands and notice they are trembling in mine. Normally in this state I’d drag him into my lap and read to him from my blog till he was calmer. But now, we’ll have to settle for him lying on the long seat with his legs propped up and his head in my lap. I guide him and once in place comfortably, he regards me before making a specific request. “How about OUR story? When we went from flat mates to lovers? I like that one, John.”

I nod and in a steady voice start to recall, “It was such a dark time for me, Sherlock, after Mary and the baby… but you never left my side. When I refused to get up, you drug me up and out of the flat. That ridiculous case of escaped zoo otters having witnessed a murder… pretty sure you and Greg made that one up just to keep me occupied. When I stopped eating you actually cooked meals for us. That shocked the Hell out of me, I had no idea you could cook and so God damn well. You even brought friends over to spend time with me. I know you hate chit chat but staying social helped me. You were amazing, baby. Exactly what I needed.”

The worry was leaving his grey eyes finally when I looked down at his face. He says, with a smirk, “Didn’t make up a case just for you.”

“I’m certain you did, pretty sure you didn’t actually get an eye witness statement from that otter named Benedict.”

He spread his hands, “Ha! You didn’t know I speak fluent otter?”

I pet him on the head in amusement, “I have no doubt that you are a master of all languages, Sherlock. Now shut up if you want to hear my story.”

I continue, “One late afternoon I had drifted asleep on the sofa, and since we needed more groceries, when I awoke, I found that you had gone out and the flat was so empty and quiet. I was fine at first and just waited for your return. I had nothing to do anyway, being on leave from the hospital, so I thought I’d putter around a bit. Find something to do.”

“Unfortunately you found the box in the closet.”

 

I state, almost surprising myself, “Fortunately I found the box, Sherlock. Otherwise we would have continued to live as flat mates, perhaps forever.”

He shakes his head slowly, “No, I sensed a change coming. I wasn’t going to let us stay in that place of limbo much longer.”

“It had been nearly a full year of despondency and grieving, I couldn’t sense anything else. I knew I needed you and I was so damn grateful you were there to pick up the pieces but I was gutted… I had no inner rudder in life. You kept me alive.”

“You did the same for me on many occasions, John, and may do so yet again.”

“The box, full of Mary’s things, when I found it I KNEW what it was but I opened it anyway. I was ready to see what was inside it. But I wasn’t ready for was her PRESENCE in the room… her scent drifted out and when that hit me, my God, the pain. I broke down then and there. Just sobbing and rocking her damn sweater against my chest.”

Sherlock remarks gently, taking one of my hands into his, “You were HOWLING, John. When I opened the building door and entered I could hear you all the way down the front stairs. I bolted up the stairs and dropped everything on the floor when I saw you. I have to admit I was very close to calling for medics but then I remembered you had once told me that while grieving for my death, you had finally overcome the wall of numbness and pushing through it was the beginning process to healing. I felt relieved you were finally feeling something. I took you in my arms and held you so tightly you actually told me you couldn’t breathe.”

“Which you ignored and held me tighter. I struggled to get away and banged your nose with my head, remember? When I turned to look up to see if you were alright… I… I… felt something, it was like a hand pushed me closer to you. I saw your lips murmuring something to me and I …”

“You kissed me, John.”

I grin at him, remembering that sensation of our first kiss, “It was amazing and crazy all at the same time- I remember EXACTLY how awkward the angle was, how soft and responsive your lips were, how it felt all warm suddenly in the room but I started shivering like I had a fever, your scent and your taste, I remember it all like yesterday. When I pulled away finally you just sat there staring at me and I had to wait for you to reboot again.”

He laughs and adds, “No, no, I swear I told you how LONG I had wanted to kiss you like that. That it was something special we could finally have together. How much I longed for you and loved you… since the very first day.”

It was my turn to shake my head, “You didn’t say any of that, I promise you. Just the ‘Nobody’s home at the moment, please leave a message’ look. You did tell me these things later, about six weeks later. I waited in your arms for you to come back to me from your Mind Palace and when you did, it was sort of awkward. You were all shy and I was so uncertain of what to do next.”

He looks puzzled a moment, “How did we manage to get into the bed?”

I frown, I thought he had taken us over to the bed and guided us down. Now, thinking back, we were just SUDDENLY there, tangled together in the sheets, kissing and touching. “I don’t know, guardian angels maybe? Got tired of waiting for us. It felt like we just sort of happened to be there. All we accomplished that night was the kissing and cuddling, remember? But it was enough.”

“A good thing too, John, because, as it turned out, it had to hold us for several weeks,” Sherlock adds with a grimace.

“The Body Snatcher case. God I hated that one. So strange and gruesome. We were so busy trying to locate and capture that ‘vampire’ that we barely had enough time to catch our breaths let alone work on a relationship.”

“One that almost didn’t rekindle, John. Thank God for Greg.”

I answer him with a gruff sounding chuckle, “Oh so now you know his name. Yes, if it hadn’t been for Greg I would have left you!”

“Tell me if I recall the details correctly. At the end of the case we had tracked this man, fake vampire, down to an old warehouse along the river. I CALLED the police…”

“And then you followed him in without waiting for them, Sherlock, you ass.”

He ignores me, “I followed him in and all the way up the stairs to the roof, and he leapt off and landed on another roof top nearby. I climbed down sensibly to a crane boom that nearly crossed to the other side and then jumped across.”

“Except that you didn’t quite make it did you? And who should happen to look up just in time to see his best friend and love of his damn life falling from another roof top?” I ask, getting annoyed and angry all over again from the memory.

He winces at my renewed pain, “I apologize again. It was foolish.”

I pick up where he leaves off, “ANYWAY, I watched you fall, hit the rough of a storage container, roll off of that and hit the ground with tremendous force!”  
“Do you know what you were yelling at me, John, as you approached me?”

“I don’t know why you are smiling, Sherlock but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t funny.”

“John, you were yelling, YOU HAD DAMN WELL BETTER BE DEAD THIS TIME, SHERLOCK, BECAUSE IF YOU ARE NOT, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” He says. “And then when I got up, hardly hurt at all, you started hitting me!”

“In my defense, I was absolutely livid at the time. How many times have I thought you were dead? I didn’t want that to keep happening to someone I love…so I walked away. Doesn’t hurt if you’re not there getting hurt. Ah, now I see your point about the aftercare. But yes, I walked away.”

He wiggles a bit to reawaken his long legs and I take the opportunity to stretch mine under his head. Once settled he recounts, “You STORMED away shouting how I was an arrogant, selfish bastard and that you were through dealing with me. I thought you meant it that time. I could see it in the way you held yourself, the way you limped…yes, John, limped…as you chased down a cab. I was gutted. I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed you in my own cab. I observed the murderer climbing down from a fire escape and actually called it in instead of going after him. I was more worried about you than solving a case. I told Greg that I was following you home to try to stop you from leaving. That’s when he told me to wait- that he would talk to you. I’m glad he did. I probably would have stood there silently telling you everything I was feeling for you and you would have heard none of it.”

“Greg called me and told me you had called in the guy’s location. But I was still so angry and afraid, I was seeing red. I went to the park and just sat there looking up at our flat. I watched you go in. I deliberately sat where I could watch you in the window without looking like it. When Greg drove up and came over to sit with me it was my God honest intention of telling him I needed a place to stay, that we were through.”

“He talked you down. How? John, what did he say? You’ve never told me.”

I rub some ginger curls away from Sherlock’s face as I think.

Closing my eyes I hear Greg’s voice FOREVER asking, “What did you fear when you saw him fall?”

I tell Sherlock, “He wanted to know what I feared? I said losing you of course, all over again. I told him that I couldn’t take it again… and he asked why? That’s all he kept asking no matter what I answered. He always asked why. Why did I care? Finally, I just blurted out that I love Sherlock.”  
“And to which he replied?”

“Greg pointed out with a subtle gesture that you were standing in the window watching us. I looked at you then and OBSERVED you for the first time. I saw pain, anxiety in the way you tilted your head. You were stiff with fear and sadness too. You looked like a lost puppy. I just wanted to hold you and protect you then. I don’t even think I thanked Greg before I left him sitting there, dashed across the street and vaulted up the stairs three at a time. When I managed to reach the door I heard you on the phone with Mycroft- although I suspect now that you FAKED it- don’t’ roll you r eyes at me- you were facing the wall and you said to him that you wanted to tell me something important but didn’t know how you’d ever get the chance because I was leaving. You turned and seemed startled to see me so close. You hung up on him and just stared at me.”

“Then I grabbed you and kissed you,” Sherlock adds.

“Um no. You grabbed me, yes, then you attacked my mouth!”

He sighs, “Same thing.”

“You are an idiot, Sherlock. When you allowed me to catch my breath, I asked you what you wanted to tell me. You looked all shy again. I couldn’t believe it, I wanted to smack you across the face. Here we were yet again on the edge of something big and here you were going all gangly teenager on me. So I asked, you love me, don’t you? And you said yes. That was it.”

“We ended up in bed again…”

“Yes, we did, somehow,” I tell him. “Remember how nervous I was with the lube?”

He chuckles, “I think there’s still spots of it on the bedframe and wall.”

“It was ONLY on the sheets, smart ass, not…”

We are interrupted by the medic posing as my assistant on the flight. He’s carrying the syringe in one hand and my toy bag in the other. He looks at us and lowers his head. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Sir but you said you wanted to prep him about an hour prior to landing.”

“I do, thanks, I’ll administer the drug myself. Give me a few minutes then come help me with the box.” I order.

With a quick nod, he hands me the syringe with the drug and needle already in place, sets the bag near the long, metal shipping ‘box’ that will contain Sherlock on his journey from airport to the club, and leaves the cabin again to give us privacy. I eye the box almost angrily. Sherlock’s not some God Damn animal but Mycroft said it would carry the correct illusion and ordered its use despite my reservations.

Sherlock sits up slowly and stretches. He seems a bit steadier somehow and this helps calm my nerves. I watch him lift a torn shirt sleeve and as I take an alcohol wipe to his upper arm, he looks on, intensity behind his eyes and gritty determination. Before I depress the plunger, I lean forward and kiss his forehead. I tell him yet again, “REMEMBER, I love you and will NEVER leave you. When you are hurting, afraid or alone, please tell yourself that. I’ll be there to get us out of this, and no matter what, all of it only lasts 72 hours once we touch the ground!”

Once the drug is in his body I watch as my boy drifts away. I lay him back against the seat and wait for the medic to help move him to the damn box just before we land. As I wait, I ruffle up his hair again. His wild ginger curls and gruff five O’clock shadow make him look exactly like his brother now that the mask of sleep has taken away his unique personality. I don’t understand how my heart can be pounding so hard, surely a broken heart doesn’t have a beat, does it?

The plane starts its descent. I swear I hear Sherlock say, “The Game is on!” But when I glance at him, he’s still and looks almost peaceful. I know that is about to change. 

“Right,” I say aloud. “The game is on. Let’s find ourselves a murderer, shall we? And get the fuck back home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one was difficult and I changed it to be less angsty than I originally planned.
> 
> Something wicked this way comes and I wanted you to get in some loving moments between the boys.
> 
> Love hearing from you!


	6. The Predators' Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John punishes his slave as required to maintain their undercover roles at the Club. 
> 
> Tags#: SLAVERY, violent sexual acts, non-con, rape, anal torture, whipping, flogging and threats of further pain and death. ANGST as major character is in pain.
> 
> I'm not kidding- it is a bit unpleasant and may trigger readers so read with that in mind.

John:

I get my first views of the city and frankly, it is depressing. This is exactly as I felt going into a war zone years ago; looking out the limo’s window it even looks like one out there. I feel out of place here in this alien landscape and it certainly is darkening my mood. I could probably return to this place in say ten years for a different purpose and see it much differently as well. I sort of doubt it though. There’s not that much to charm me about this American city.

I expect my first views of the Predators’ Club to strike me the same way but it doesn’t. Instead of a warehouse or industrial looking building down town I find that we’ve entered a lovely suburban neighborhood full of families, parks and sprawling mansions. These houses you could see were expensive, well cared for and the large spiraling lawns were immaculate. Many have long curving driveways, multicar garages and high fences. The Club is no exception. Its tall fence is stone topped with well-hidden security cameras and the house is nearly completely out of view from the wrought iron gate.

The limo driver announces my arrival into a speaker and the gate swings open. As we drive towards the home itself I see many security guards patrolling different areas. This is going to prove a challenge for our extraction but I can’t worry about that now. I’ll have to trust Mycroft to get the job done. I look at my watch. Good, we’ve taken two hours to get here- we have 70 left. Somehow that seems a lot better than having the entire time period left to face.

The house is immense and once the limo travels behind it I can see several additions have been added to make it into one very impressive location for a club. There is also a standalone multicar garage with eight bays, two buildings that could, I suppose, be staff quarters and a lovely garden. What the Hell does this club need with a Fucking flower garden? I can’t imagine. Perhaps to appear ‘normal’ from the outside. Or perhaps some of these sadists enjoy gardening in their spare time? I snort.

The limo pulls into a bay and parks. The limo driver pops my door and stands there expectedly. Right, Watson, into battle. My new persona slips into place, I slide out of the car, brush past the driver without a word and stand just outside of the garage pointedly looking at my watch. A young man, perhaps in his early twenties appears from the house and I growl at him as he approaches with his hand out in greeting, “Where is the van with my property?”

 

Dropping his unshaken hand immediately he takes my one piece of luggage, my personal toys and clothing from the driver and states, “Welcome, Sir, it will be here shortly. They’ll deliver your property directly to the Main Hall after dinner.”

“And when will that be precisely?” I ask as I follow the young man into the club through the back door. “I’m on a very tight schedule here in the States.”

“Grand Master Brae has made the staff aware of your timeline, Master Harry. Dinner will be in an hour. I can come retrieve you to show you the way to the Main Hall if you’d like. I’m showing you to your room first.”

Looking around, this seems so like a hotel it is a bit unnerving at first. It is quiet and peaceful, at least in this section of it. We pass a few doors that lead into small sitting areas. There are very few people in attendance. In fact I only see one other man in traditional butler clothes carrying a covered tray up a set of side stairs. My guide takes me past these and turns into a long well lit hallway with a few doors on each side. He stops in front of one, unlocks it, hands me the key and shows me inside. He tells me, “Master Harry, I am Ray by the way, Sir and this intercom button here by the door and the one by the bed alerts me that you may need assistance. Otherwise you have full privacy. Not even the cleaning staff will enter without your permission.”

The room is well appointed with rich linens, sturdy furniture, and expensive hard wood floors. It is comprised of plenty of space. Besides the king sized bed there is a large dresser, a plush chair and two side tables. Ray sets my bag very carefully by the closet doors and shows me the bathroom. I glance at the large shower and give him a bored nod. He leaves me then to my own means.   
If he is returning in one hour I have more than enough time to check on the tiny GPS unit that Mycroft has implanted in his brother. I tap the application open on my phone and I find the flashing red dot I see in the middle of the screen to be comforting. Blinking means heartbeat. His red dot is very close to my own flashing one on the screen. He’s close by then and I can relax. 

I check on my gun on my hip under my shirt. Someone in the Customs office must be well paid by the club or is a member of it. Not a single person has questioned me about my weapon at all. It brings a small comfort to know that perhaps I can protect us if need be. However, Mycroft did say that all Masters here at the club were armed as well and that’s a lot of fire power on their side. Hopefully it won’t come to that.

I wash my face in the sink, glaring into the mirror. I look older than I feel and I honestly don’t know who this old guy is in the mirror. This is more the way I looked when Sherlock was ‘dead’. I try to tell myself it is because the contacts make my eyes look almost black instead of the happier lighter grey blue. My dyed hair with just a touch of pepper at the temples and thick rimmed glasses makes me look very scholarly. It can’t be that I’ve slowly aged past the prime of my youth. I won’t accept that. A knock on the door brings me out of my reverie and I slip the glasses back on. They are actually making my vision sharper even though it was supposed to simply help me disguise Blogger John from these men. I shake my head at myself in the mirror. I’ll go to an ophthalmologist when I get back to London- for real contacts not colored ones.

Upon opening the door I find Ray and another man waiting for me, “Master Harry, may I lead you to the Main Hall for dinner? The handler will fetch your equipment bag, Sir. There are punishment sessions and demonstrations directly following the meal.”

Gruffly I nod and as the handler fetches my bag I ask Ray, “The van is here?”

“Yes, Master Harry, and your property is secured safely. Follow me please, Sir.”

He leads the way though several hallways with the handler trailing behind us with my bag. We trot down a flight of stairs and as we enter an area as big as a ballroom I stand for a moment at the door to take it all in. With the lights fully on as they are now, part of it is set as a dining area. There are two long wooden tables with straight backed elegant chairs on both sides. They have been set for sixteen diners. From Sheffield’s description I had expected far more to be in attendance. The rest of the room is bondage equipment ranging from two large crosses to benches, chairs and slings. At one end is a stage set up with a whipping post and standing cage exactly like the one at the Club Exposure in London. The walls are covered in cloth and I’m certain it helps muffle the noise somewhat from the rest of the building.

Several men are already in the room, standing in a group animatedly talking about something. Ray leads me over to this group. As soon as I approach they become silent and look me over critically. I’ve been told what to do in this situation. I wait for Ray to introduce me and make no form of warm greeting. I make sure I put a touch of military in my bearing. That always ensures respect.  
“Masters, this is Master Harry from London.”

The men seem very interested in me all of a sudden. One, who seems just a bit older than the other two says politely, “We just heard that you had captured the murdering traitor and brought him back to us, Master Harry. We’ll certainly enjoy his punishment.”

“IT will be thoroughly subjugated to my will, of course and I imagine all the Masters will enjoy it being forced to submit to its punishment and my ownership.” I reply as coldly as I can possibly manage. I indicate the tables set for sixteen, “I thought perhaps there would be far more in attendance, especially for this. I hope I didn’t travel all the way for such little response.”

The Master quickly responds to my comment, “Not many actually live or stay here on the club’s grounds, Master Harry. They will arrive as dinner finishes. I suspect most Masters in the area will attend along with their slaves, Sir. Everyone is excited for your arrival. Ah, here’s the owner of the Predators’ Club, Grand Master Brae.”

I turn to face the door again. The man entering takes my breath away. If the Devil is walking the earth, surely this is him. His eyes practically glow enough for me to see across the room. They are mesmerizing in his dark olive complexioned face. His black hair flows to his shoulders and his beard is neatly trimmed. He’s wearing a crisp suit and its grey color offsets the color in his eyes. He glances at and nods to the other men but his eyes settle on me like a physical weight.

His voice is smooth and deep, “Master Harry, welcome to the Predator’s Club. I trust your journey went smoothly.”

“It did, Grand Master Brae, thank you.”

“You have quite the reputation in Europe, Master Harry. As the club requires a demonstration for all new members I hope you are up for it today after your long journey. There are many who will be in attendance tonight specifically to witness how the traitor will be punished.” He states. His eyes are sharp and I’m certain I’m being deduced. You get accustomed to it when you are around Sherlock more than a day. I must stay firmly in character.

“I’ve already been breaking it down, fucking with its mind. It’s quite a stubborn thing though, lots of fight left in it. I’ll certainly enjoy punishing it further for the Masters’ amusement.”

“It? I love that. I do enjoy a good show of forced submission.” Grand Master Brae snorts, then says to his assistant, “Ray, gather the others up for dinner and alert Master Devon he may start his demonstration.”

Grand Master Brae indicates my seat across from his own chair and sits. Instantly two young naked men approach him, eyes pinned to the floor as they offered us both water and wine. Around their necks are metal bands and locked around their genitals are leather and electronic shocking devices that look like the kind used on dogs to keep them within invisible fences. The slaves back away once their jobs are completed and wait against the wall. 

Within a short time frame the tables fill up with other Masters of the club who are in residence. Most are in expensive suits and the men they drag behind them on leashes of various styles are all completely naked save for one. He is wearing a leather harness and cuffs. He seems more frightened and nervous than the others. When his Master turns from the table and takes him forward towards the stage I can understand his apprehensions. He’s today’s first entertainment.

“Master Devon’s slave refused a command to service another master,” The Master next to me remarks rather casually. “I hope he uses the Fuck Machine on him!”

I’ve seen one being used consensually on a boy at the BDSM club in London and am familiar with their uses. It can range from a gentle ride of pleasure all the way up to an intensely painful rape experience. I’m certain what this boy is about to face will be anything but pleasant. It is in fact a large, powerful Fuck Machine equipped with a dildo shaped like closed, pointed hand that is rolled onto the stage. Master Devon gives the poor boy a chance to look at it long and hard then when tears of anxiety flows down the slave’s cheeks, Master Devon shoves him coldly over a wooden rape frame and secures all his limbs. 

Popping open a large bottle of lube, the Master dribbles quite a lot onto the dildo and over the boy’s twitching anal entrance. With a rough shove he breaches it and rubs the lube inside. The slave yelps sharply at the treatment, yanking hard at the straps holding him in place. The moment he feels the hard dildo touching him he begins to beg loudly for mercy.

“Oh God Master, please. I’m a good boy. Pleassssssssseeee!

He screams as the machine is turned on and the dildo forces its way in. He has no chance to fight it. His shrieks of agony are muffled by a burlap bag thrown over his head and the men eating at the table with me chuckle and make crude jokes. I look up to find Grand Master Brae watching me intently. I smile and nod at the Master at my side whose joke has nearly curdled my stomach.

As I feign boredom at the proceedings on stage, the Grand Master states to me, “I’m sure that you are used to such spectacles, Master Harry.”

I eat another mouthful. It gives me time to calm my breathing and to think of a convincing answer. “Yes, I certainly feel rape plays an integral part in obtaining a slave’s obedience however I enjoy my toys to remain nice and tight for me. I rarely use such a large dildo as it does so much damage.”

As if to make my point, a thick ribbon of blood can be seen running down the boy’s leg even now. He’s still crying out but more weakly. His bloodied hole is still be pounded into by the machine and his body is shaking violently. I’m certain he’s close to passing out. I am hopeful he is.

“Mmm, yes, I love a tight hole myself but I think Master Devon likes them gaping and bloody.”

I can see that. Master Devon has finally turned off the machine, ripped it from the crying slave’s hole and has mounted him onto his own large cock. With several hard thrusts he’s groaning in real pleasure. A couple of the other masters, having completed their meals, rise and join him on stage. They are laughing at the boy’s state.

“Such a sweet, wet pussy your bitch has there, Devon.”

“Give me a turn, man, I’m horny as fuck from all that screaming!”

Master Devon powers through a few more thrusts bringing out even deeper, more guttural sounds from his slave to the men’s delight. They rub over their crotches beneath suit fabric then grab at zippers to release their cocks. Master Devon obviously shares quite often. When he growls through his release, he yanks out and squirts his semen all over the boy’s back and picks up a rag to wipe the shit and blood off his dick before joining us at the table. I only watch until the next man enters the boy’s ass and takes a cruel pace. I look away again, back to my food and I vow never to share Sherlock with anyone- EVER.

“I assume everyone here is regularly tested, including the property but you should know, Grand Master Brae, I do not share what belongs to me.”

I’m only a bit surprised to see the Grand Master shrug at my words. He says, “That is your decision to make. One of my boys, I won’t share with anyone, the other two- I don’t care- I give them freely to whomever wants them. I’ll probably be selling them at the auction Friday.”

I lift my eyes to him with a bit of surprise, “There’s an auction THIS Friday?”

“Oh yes, you’re welcome to sell or purchase. I host one every six months.”

I nod. “I would have brought another slave of mine, had I known. This new one, I’m enjoying the breaking process. Maybe at your next one?”

I calculate the event’s timing in my head. We are due for rescue on Friday evening. With any luck we’ll miss the experience and hopefully the auction won’t interfere with our plans of escape.

I see that the final rape has been completed and the young man, finally unconscious, is being drug from the stage by two handlers. His Master looks up from his meal and tells them to drop him into a tub and scrub him up before delivering him back to the room. I know that there is damage that will hurt the young man likely for several days. He certainly won’t have an easy time serving his master tonight.

I force back my feelings once again and try to harden my heart to all this. I sense it is coming up on my turn and I’m going to have to be absolutely shitty to my lover.

“If you are finished with your meal, Master Harry, may we have your property brought to you now?” Grand Master Brae inquires.

I sneer, “Absolutely, Grand Master Brae. Bring the traitorous filth to me and let’s begin!”

OooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

The unearthly howling from just outside the Hall’s doors nearly breaks through my resolve. I’ve never heard such fear in my life nor want to again in my lifetime. Sherlock is pitching an absolute fit as four men struggle to carry him. Ray, the fifth person with the party, is following behind and chastising him viciously for his behavior. I rise at once, stride purposely up to the group, tower over Sherlock and bark out an order, loudly and coldly, “IT will stop this behavior at once! Or IT will pay the price for embarrassing me!”  
I see Sherlock’s eyes widen when he catches sight of me and at my command for silence, he gulps and grits his teeth to stop the sound. He’s trembling badly in their hands and there are deep finger marks where the men have grasped his bound and legs. 

“Please, S Sir, I’m sorry… please…” Sherlock begs. I recognize the fear as a temporary side effect of the anesthetic I had administered on the jet. It is working to our advantage.

“Put him on the whipping post and fetch my whip and riding crop from my bag,” I tell Ray. He jumps at once to get my implements and Sherlock hangs limply, whimpering as he’s taken to the stage. Once he is secured there I take my whip from the Grand Master’s assistant and stride up to my boy’s side. I turn to the tables where Grand Master Brae sits, sipping at his wine glass. A boy on a leash is brought to him crawling on his knees. At once, the slave has unzipped his Master’s crotch and has his mouth on his Master’s cock. Brae gestures for me to wait so I take the time to adjust Sherlock to my liking. I wrap a thick leather band around his waist so that I cannot strike or damage his kidneys. While I’m pretending to check the wrist bindings I squeeze his elbow. There is one loud grunt of pain. Uncertain if this is his answer, I squeeze again. One whimper. He’s still at green. 

The room is filling with Masters and slaves. In all this crowd I try to keep an eye out for Moriarty but don’t see him. I wonder if Sherlock has had any chance to start his case yet. It is doubtful though due to all the side effects that are dulling his mind. Given a few hours he’ll be able to form clearer thoughts. 

Grand Master Brae shoves the slave from his cock, tucks it back into his suit pants, stands and taps his wine glass with a dessert spoon. At once there is expectant silence and he fills it by saying, “Gentleman, Master Harry joins us all the way from London. He’s captured our runaway slut and brings him now for punishment and our amusement. Please, Master Harry, begin when you are ready.”

I take a good pace back from where my boy is bound, hands over his head and legs secured widely apart by a spreader bar between his ankles. I’ve whipped him before of course in play. I know exactly how he reacts and how much he can take. Relaxing my back, I swing draw the whip back and then release it to swing and snap against his back. His shriek of pain unnerves me at first. He’s usually more stoic but then I realize he needs to act too. I develop a smooth rhythm that moves the whip smoothly, cracking against his body and slowly making a pattern of stripes downwards and back up. He’s nearing his limit and I’m certain everyone in this room knows it. I add viscous stripe upon stripe and continue despite the shrieks and groans issuing forth from him. His back, buttocks and thighs are raw. 

“Please! Master, please have mercy!” He shouts out finally, sobbing as he tries to twist away. This is the time that it would be fairly normal for me to give him only a few more strokes then pull him down and care for him lovingly.

“Gag it!” I shout to the handlers waiting nearby.

Instantly a very large ball is shoved between his teeth and secured behind his head. I catch the whimper of his surrender and wish I could stop. Resolved, I lift the whip again and continue. His body is shaking out of his control and he fights with the restraints at his wrists. He’s howling behind the gag but it is a wet, garbled sound now that he is gagged properly. 

I stop for a moment to wipe the sweat from my brow and drink water from the bottle Ray has offered me. I pick up a bottle of antiseptic spray from a table and a cloth. I spray Sherlock’s body and wipe away the specks of blood. He’s moaning as I work. I inspect his flesh for serious wounds but find none. The stripes are swelling and where they have crossed there is minimal tearing. Unfortunately, I feel I can and must continue as these are highly experienced Masters surrounding and watching me. 

Once more I take my place and shake my arm out. I forgot how damn tiring this can be. I change tactics and swing the whip at a slightly different angle. This is a new, advanced technique I’d just learned from Edward and hadn’t a chance to use it on Sherlock yet. In this light, he’s caught off guard and shrieks uncontrollably. I deliver each whipped mark precisely where I need to so that it brings agony but not more damage. I’m hoping they think I don’t want to leave permanent marks on my slave so as to keep his value high and not realize I don’t want to damage him because I love him.

Eventually Sherlock’s body adapts to the level of pain I’m inflicting and his sounds change. At this time the whip isn’t as effective. I turn to the handler nearest me, hand him the whip and ask for the riding crop. As I wait I try to judge the mood of the audience. They are chuckling at Sherlock’s sounds and shivering body and most, finished with their meals are now standing at the base of the stage, manhandling their cocks or are using the mouths of their slaves. Only the Grand master remains seated at the dining table and is enjoying the slave’s blowjob again. He nods at me curtly.

The riding crop now in my hand is very useful of delivering pain to fresh areas I dare not touch with the whip. I must be closer to Sherlock for this. I start at his upper arms and as I deliver each stinging thwack he sobs brokenheartedly. He’s pleading again behind the gag though I can’t really make out the words. He’s certainly further over his pain boundaries than I’ve ever taken him before. I move the riding crop’s descent to unmarked areas on his side, his sit spots and down each thigh. He flinches and struggles uselessly to move his legs. When he rediscovers he cannot move away, he panics and pulls in earnest at his bonds. He’ll hurt his wrists this way.

“You’d better stop that struggling, you useless Bitch or I’ll have them hold you down. If they help, then they get to share your ass later!” I snarl at my slave.

Sherlock amazingly manages to stand up again and brace himself against the whipping post. In complete submission he lowers his head against the wood and cries. After a few dozen more hard whacks of the riding crop I hand it over to a handler and ask the other for his assistance in turning Sherlock around. 

His face is red, streaked from tears and drool covers his chin and chest. I wipe the sweat down and pinch his nipples hard as the handler secures his hands above his head once again. He doesn’t even make an attempt to look me in the eyes. Instead he seems to be staring off at a distance, almost blind with pain.

I locate the cloverleaf nipple clamps and apply them quickly, giving him no chance to adapt to the new assault. Tears flow freely again and he’s biting uselessly at the gag as I flick each crushed nipple with my fingers. I move away just far enough to swing the riding crop down upon his chest, belly and thighs. His screams fill the room again much to the delight of the men behind me, watching and entertaining themselves with slaves. He drops down, putting his weight on his delicate wrists again and I stop. I grab him around the waist, lift him to his feet and order, “Stand up, Bitch and take this punishment!”

I continue delivering blow after blow until his front is as abused as his back. He trembles in my arms but remains on his feet for me. He’s being so damn brave and I wish I could tell him so. Finally, he’s somewhere else in his head, I can see the signs he’s not feeling each and every blow any longer. I’ll need to change tactics again.

“Suspend it, hands and wrists together!” I tell the handlers. They move at once to comply.

I wait at the side and drink more water. This is very hard work. I glance behind me and receive a few thumbs up from across the room. They are enjoying the show. Grand Master Brae has his own slave thrown over a table and is rutting him hard as if drilling for oil. I can hear the poor boy’s cries from here.

They have Sherlock suspended from the ceiling finally. His hands and feet are above his body and he swings slowly around in a circle. It is a frightening position he has told me before because the ass and genitals are so fully exposed. He absolutely hates this position and I know it. I reserve it usually for punishment.

I grasp his balls in my hand and give them a good hard squeeze hen push at his ass so that he spins faster. I lash out with the riding crop at his legs and ass as they pass me each time. As I do so, he squirms on the chain to get himself out of my reach. This useless effort makes many of the Master’s laugh cruelly and call out nasty remarks to him. I spit in his face a few times and unintentionally manage to swat his face instead of his legs. I think from fear as well as the loss of control over his body, his bladder releases all over his belly. Now there is even greater appreciative laughter from our audience. 

“You disgusting, Pig. You’ll be punished further for that insult!” I shout at him as I drop the riding crop to the floor.

I grab him by the hair and spin him hard and fast. I’m certain he feels sick but the disorientation may actually help overwhelm his pain reception too. The body can only deal with one event at a time. His body eventually slows and I whip out my own dick and spray his twirling body with my own piss, drenching his face and genitals as they pass in turn. His eyes close under the liquid assault but some lands on the ball gag and enters the side of his mouth and certainly into his nostrils. He shakes his head and manages to spray me with my own piss. Sighing inwardly, I know I’ll have to punish him for that, too.

“Bring the metal dildo and controller box from my bag,” I call out. It is brought to me very quickly along with a bottle of lube.

“Let’s see how it likes a little electricity in the ass,” I chuckle. A few electrical wires and sticky pads are brought to me as I apply lube to Sherlock’s twitching hole and shove the dildo in place. With a bit of rough twine I fashion a simple way to secure it in place so that I don’t have to hold it there. Sherlock moans loudly in protest at the sudden invasion. He knows this toy can bring tremendous pain. I see a new begging look enter his eyes. I force myself to ignore him and continue applying the stimulation pads to his inner thighs. As soon as all of it is connected to the box I turn the dial fully on. He has no way to prepare or build up to the fire lighting up his ass and legs. I hold to the chains above him and keep him from spinning. Instead, as he shrieks he bucks his body up and down. He can’t escape the agony pulsating through him. I reach forward and roughly yank the cloverleaf clamps from his nipples. For a moment the pain is so great he can’t seem to breathe. The long silence is followed by a howl that shakes his whole body. 

I let him hang several hard minutes, twitching and screaming as loudly as the gag will allow him to. He’s completely overcome finally, and very obviously beyond his limits that I feel comfortable stopping. We’ve immersed ourselves into their world. When I know he cannot possibly take another moment of this torture, I stop. Just as quickly as I had applied the implements I yanked them all off. Before I leave him, I give each nipple a hard pinch and slap at his dangling ball sack. His head dangles limply, his eyes glassy. I lean forward and snarl, “I’m through playing for now, Bitch. I’m bored. I’ll carry on in my room tonight!”

After spitting again in his face, I leave him hanging and twirling as I drop the metal dildo, wires and control box onto a tray. We are both sweating like well run horses and I’m already beginning to feel the muscle strain in my arms and back. BDSM activities can be a real workout. At this rate I may lose weight from our time at the Club and I nearly laugh from the damn irony of breaking my boy’s body while becoming more fit and healthy. With a sour stomach coloring my mood. I tell the handlers to take the fucking meat down so that he can service me properly. I march off the stage with some cheers of a job well done and jeers towards my slave for his failures.

“Oh, it had BETTER obey me!” I tell them. “Or the bitch will beg for death!”

As I take my seat across from the Grand Master again, lift a glass of water and drink deeply, I see him nod to me. I imagine that’s the only real sign of approval I’ll get so I decide to take it.

The handlers place Sherlock on all fours and crawling over to me, I see he’s in bad pain. Fresh tears covering his face, gag out finally, he takes my cock out very carefully and puts it in his mouth. Even kneeling at my feet seems to cause him discomfort. I pretend I feel his teeth catch on my cock and snarling, push him away. The handlers are at once all over him and hold him in place in front of me.

“Please, Master, I’m sorry!” Sherlock wails fearfully. I indicate to the handlers to hold him still.

I strike his face several times with vicious back handed slaps that startle him into silence. He hangs his head in utter defeat and collapses forward in their grips. I hit him again, this time in the belly above the diaphragm temporarily disabling his breathing. Quickly he loses consciousness and therefor thankfully is out of pain for a while. Sherlock deserves better than this but I can do nothing to sooth his fears, his pain. 

“Secure it in my room on the fucking floor. I’ll deal with it later.”

I watch as the handlers drag him out of my sight, semi-conscious and nose dripping blood onto the concrete floor. I know I have not seriously harmed him but my heart pounds with anxiety. I just need to sit here and remember, this is just a part I am acting. It will be over soon. In order to save his life, I have to let them treat him in this manner, even if it is breaking my heart.

When I turn back to the long table I find Grand Master Brae is regarding me with his cold steel colored eyes. I hope to God I haven’t revealed my love for my boy in some way. If I have, Sherlock and I are in serious danger here. He nods his head at me with just a slight tip of his narrow face. He lifts the leash to his own slave, gives it a rough yank and drags the poor lad even closer to his lap. I feign disinterest. I return to drinking as I observe him in my peripheral vision. One does not lose sight of an apex predator unless one wants to become that predator’s next meal.

“Go over to Master Harry and give him pleasure since his own slave is so worthless,” I hear him order the slave at his feet. Within moments the slave has crawled under the table to my legs and there are trembling hands on my lap reaching and finding my zipper. Swallowing lest I choke, I sit back to give him room. Frightened, yet determined, the slave’s eyes meet mine then quickly look away. He is below the table still and no-one but I has seen his grievous error. It is the only thing that saves me having to give him a hard slap to the face.

I’ve considered how to protect Sherlock, how to get us out alive – physically. I think I understand even how to shield his heart and mind but I haven’t given much thought about my own. I knew of course I might have to interact with the other poor slaves but this is now reality. Once we are away from here, I intend on shutting this place down, rescuing them. I vow to myself that I’ll make everything right again. I must. Now though, I have to do the reprehensible. I must make this man serve me. I feel sick inside but shield my feelings from showing on my face. I throw a wall of love for Sherlock around my heart and mind. I pray it is sufficient. 

The wet mouth finds me hard and ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sherlock. He wasn't harmed in the creation of this chapter. He's sitting on my sofa, watching Into Darkness with John and complaining about the bad acting... John is giving him THE LOOK so maybe he will settle down.
> 
> As always- I LIVE for your comments and KUDOS are my addiction lately!
> 
> Oh oh, I just spotted Moriarty snatching an apple out of the kitchen. I'd better go see what he's up to.


	7. The Predators' Club (Part 2)- From Sherlock's Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Sherlock's punishment, he notices John is withdrawn, almost robotic. Sherlock really struggles to submit and help John be the sadistic Master he needs to be.
> 
> This is the same scene, now hearing Sherlock's POV.
> 
> Oh, and what impact will Moriarty's arrival have on our duo?
> 
> #same tags plus add DomMoriarty, SubSebastian.
> 
> While you read the shower scene try to imagine Benny's outtake as Khan in Star Trek... yeah, that sort of thing. I think I may keep these guys in the shower long term!

Sherlock (starting on the jet):

I want to tell John something but the drug he's injected is clouding my mind- making me drowsy and befuddled. Wait, wait, I'm certain I say but perhaps it's in my head. I try to lean forward to kiss him one last time, he moves instead and gently plants one on my forehead as he brushes aside a stray curl of my ginger colored hair. The jet will land soon and I must tell John...something...important...I.. love...please.. I need...to...

The metal box is shaking and jolting from being manhandled and has awoken me from my deep slumber. I know John is nearby, I feel it in my heart. I'm dizzy and shaking. These are side effects the medics have warned me of. I'll be alright and in fact, perhaps I can use this to my advantage. The drug tends to make one fearful and I plan to act as afraid and off-balance as possible. This should ensure that I can put on a good showing with John's help in his Master's role. As I try to clear my head of the cotton shrouding it, I remember what I wanted to so desperately tell John. Don't be afraid, be strong. I know him well. He's likely to go easy on me out of his love and concern for me. This sentiment will get us caught and killed. I plan to find a time and place to tell him.

The box is being trundled now on a cart of some kind and I can hear muffled noises of men struggling to move it. There's a bit of loud cursing then a screeching noise as it is shoved through a door too tight for it really to fit. With a jolt it is laid upon the floor and there is clicking of several locks on the box's side. I close my eyes and wait.

As the lid creaks open I slow down my breathing and feign deep sleep. My ability to meditate deeply has helped me on many occasions on difficult or almost impossible cases. I can deduce by the murmurs there are four men in the room, three following the orders of one. The three are bored and wanting to leave but there leader is trying to decide what to do with me.

He growls irritably at them, "Look he's still unconscious like I said he'd be, breathing just fine. Plus his hands and feet are tied. Let's just leave him here. Master Harry was quite clear, we're not to touch him or remove him from the box. I'm not crossing that man. I heard the last person that touched his property without his permission is missing his hand."

So Mycroft's network has been busy. Good. Wild rumors will help us craft an illusion perhaps strong enough to protect us for a time. The three men grumble but follow the man from the room. I hear the door lock engage and slowly, I open my eyes. I move my hands around near the top of the box and locate the tiny key that John and the medics have hidden for me. It slips easily into my grip and I wiggle it until I manage to engage it into the lock. It clicks softly open and once free I sit up and apply the key to the the lock at my ankles. I know I haven't much time, I'll have to quickly sweep this room for electronic devices. Mycroft had told me he was able to find information - who knows his damn sources- that the club did not use video surveillance but had listening devices in most bedrooms should the Master's need emergency assistance. I scoff at that notion. I imagine most Masters at the club have no idea they are being surveilled in such a manner. I'll have to trust that Mycroft's information is accurate. If it isn't and there is video feed there will be an immediate response to my moving around freely in the room. 

Moving carefully and silently I quickly locate two tiny, hidden mics. Both are in the bedroom, one over the bed and the other closer to the door. There don't seem to be any in the bathroom- just as Mycroft's information had indicated. This is good, very good. It will give John and I the chance to communicate important information. 

I lay back down in the box after having a quick drink of water from the sink. I reattach my ankle cuffs but leave the ones for my wrist, only a single cuff secured on the left, so that I may both enter my Mind Palace and quickly bind my hands back into place if I catch any sounds from the door. The box is not the most comfortable place but I’ll mange. I hide the key in the lining over my head, steeple my fingers and close my eyes. 

OooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They are coming for me. Within moments I have my hands locked in the correct position. Just as the door swings open, I whimper in feigned fear. I’ve just spent an hour or so with memories of my twin brother and I’ve practiced how he would react, speak or take action. I’ve got his persona down pat. Addled by the drug, he’d awaken and feel lost, thus the anxiety driven whimpering.  
Rough hands shake me, pinch at my nipples and unlock the bindings. I open my eyes and look around. The four men are back. Their leader is young, handsome and impatient. He tells the others to lift me from the box carefully. Interestingly, he must still be somewhat afraid of John’s reputation. I shiver in their hands as they grasp me under the arms.

“Don’t harm him. Master Harry insists that the only marks on his property will be made by him alone. Let’s get it to the Main Hall.” Mr. In-Charge says.

At the mention of my Master I start crying- this time it is somewhat real, I want to see John so badly it hurts- and lock my legs forcing them to carry me from the room. As we get ever closer, reality of where I’m heading and what may occur hits me. I’ve only been afraid once. This sense of foreboding must be from the drug. I catch sight of a large room full of men and a panicked howl rips from my guts, surprising me by its depth. I want John! Now!

The young man is chastising and threatening me but I don’t really hear him. He means nothing to me. The room seems to close in and I’m too damn hot even if I am naked. I’m afraid I may faint. I need something to help me get back in control of myself. Then suddenly John’s voice booms across the room, saving me. He sounds angry and very in control. Immediately I am able to get myself squared away. With him in charge there is no fear, no panic.

They rush me forward onto a stage and face me towards a whipping post. This is familiar. I understand how a whipping will feel. I’m shivering still a bit but that is normal anticipation. John is right by my side, one hand squeezing my elbow. I groan once for him but he double checks our communication system anyway. Really, John, I’m ok again. 

I hear the announcement from somewhere behind me for MY punishment to begin and I brace for the first blow. There is no other sound quite like a whip cutting through the air towards you and no matter where you think it will land, how it will feel, you can never truly prepare yourself. With a vicious bite it crosses one shoulder then burns its way to my hip. Even though I can handle this pain, my twin has always been more sensitive- I shriek at the fire on my skin. John is applying the whip like a true master of his art and is giving me little chance to adjust as the pain grows. Being his sub, I want to instinctually thank him for his attention but of course this must remain unspoken.

The room is so full of jeering and laughter at my sounds and struggles that I can no longer hear when the whip will bite my skin. Thus taken off guard, the pain is becoming intolerable. I’m reaching my boundaries here and unfortunately, John must ignore them this time. I’ll try to goad him past his instinct to stop.

“Please! Master, please have mercy!” I beg, hanging limply against the chains attached to the top of the posts. I’m hurting my wrists on purpose- which annoys him immensely- and this, in combination to the idiotic begging, usually pushes John into increasing the punishment.

I do worry though when he stops the whipping. Is he taking my cries too seriously? Is he that worried for me? Even when he barks an order for me to be gagged I hear the subtle tell-tale signs that he is stressed. He sounds distant and robotic. In response, I fight the bonds in earnest. Maybe a real struggle will awaken him.

I spit and growl uselessly at the handlers as they approach with a large ball gag. The handlers grab my hair and with a sharp, burning pull to my scalp, force the gag deep into my mouth. I moan at the overwhelming helplessness this muteness brings suddenly. I can’t beg or scream, in fact, I can barely breathe. I close my eyes and concentrate on deep breaths through my nose.

The whipping continues. His aim is precise and it always seems to find new areas to mark me. I’m losing control over my response. Throwing my head back I howl from the deep agony. I give myself over to it and collapse against the pole in front of me. I try to sink to my knees but the binding above my hands won’t allow this. I pull against them and try to twist away from the leather tail as it whistles towards me. Again, John stops when he should continue. I get why he does but instead of being grateful, it angers me. 

He sprays me down with some sort of antiseptic that burns each mark and refreshes the pain momentarily. A cloth is rubbed across the torn skin and I grimace as the blood droplets are cleaned. John is being a damn doctor. If I could shout in rebellion at him I would. As it is, my sounds are ugly and raw. I know he’ll misinterpret them. He’s always doing that… overthinking and misjudging reality. I want to tell him to sod off and stop being so fucking caring. He’s endangering us here.

He does begin to lay on the whip again but I’m distracted from the pain now. Plus my body is adapting to the overstimulation. Thankfully he switches to a riding crop which brings a new sensation. But I fear I am no longer really in terrible pain and I’m certainly not under his spell as a Master. I’m going to have to give this my entire attention to act as though I’m caving to his will.

He has me turned to face the audience which is good. Even being thrashed, I can act and get a good read on those around me. Some might claim that this type of disassociation forms in a really troubled mind and needs therapy and drugs to keep it from disabling someone. For me, I find it handy to carry out an action while thinking deeply about something else. One does not dull a useful tool and I have never addressed it with any doctor, not even John.

I count sixty men in attendance, more than half are in expensive suits or partially in them at the very least. The others, naked, are kneeling or having been thrown over some frame, are servicing their dressed Masters as best they can. I look for Moriarty but don’t see him here. I do spot several video cameras though and I suspect he’s viewing us from them. If he is here, hopefully he won’t interrupt or give us away. He likes games so perhaps he’ll play along for a while. I mean how can he resist watching his archenemy being tortured?

The pain is finally breaking down my mind’s barriers and I slide back into my body, hard and without preparation. It’s like waking up in the middle of a surgery. I screech in agony and fight to get away from him. He holds me and delivers several terrible blows to my thighs. I feel myself giving him control again as I collapse against him, taking everything he is giving me. Too soon though he orders me taken down from the whipping post and to be suspended. I want his ownership to comfort me and I fight to get his attention. He ignores me. As the men ready the hoist, I have a moment to look him over. He seems disjointed and distant. He’s obviously not a true sadist-as I can be when I want- but at least I thought he could pretend to be. Maybe I was wrong. He’s clearly not enjoying my punishment as he should. For a moment I regret our love for each other, only for the fact it may doom us.

My hands and ankles are shackled together and I am hoisted upwards to about John’s waist. With John still acting so strangely I can’t seem to settle down in my submission. I want to fight him, awaken him… push him. He sets my body into a fast spin and lashes at my ass. This too, is fully expected and routine for us. I cry out against the gag but I can handle this level of pain. It’s very rhythmic so it makes it easy to judge when I’ll be hit and to prepare for it. Spin, thwack, and spin again. I’m a bit dizzy and nauseated from the twirling but again I must act as if the pain is too much. Damn it, John. Help me submit. Master me!

One strike catches me against my balls suddenly. I shriek and try to close my legs but he swats me in the same place on the next turn. My bladder releases to my great shame. I can hear the laughter and jeering from the Masters. As the spinning slows, a warm stream of urine strikes my face and neck. I sputter and shake my head.

This seems to be John’s cue to shift punishments again. “Bring the metal dildo and controller box from my bag,” he orders. “Let’s see how it likes a little electricity in the ass!”

I don’t like it, I try to say but he knows that. I hate the damn electrical box. As he applies the implements to my ass and thighs I check on him surreptitiously. I recognize the break down signs immediately. He’s going to need my help pushing past this. My complete submission should help. This box will bring the level of pain I need to reach a new place. I start to really buck and squirm as he turns the dial all the way up. My ass clenches excruciatingly tightly around the dildo and my leg muscles spasm. Shrieking, I fight as he simply holds me in place, not allowing my body to spin. I can do nothing more than raise my head and scream behind my gag at him. We lock eyes. I’m pleading through mine. When I grow tired, I allow my head and shoulders to drop and simply howl. Wave after wave of spasms racks my body and sobbing, I surrender to it. I’m swept away into Hell.

It takes a long time to realize I’m no longer being electrified. I find I’m on my knees in front of John. Casually he is drinking water and accepting a few congratulatory pats on the back. Shivering, I lift my head and hands. His cock is warm in my mouth as I try to suckle him but the gag has left me dry and parched. Crying, in fear of failing him, I let him slide out and wet my lips. Carefully I draw him back in but he reacts as though he’s been scraped against my teeth. I’m certain I haven’t actually connected with his skin in this manner. He shoves me away and I see the deep anguish in his face. Before I can stop him, he slugs me in the belly, directly above the diaphragm. I can’t breathe. A grey spot spreads before my eyes and I feel, somewhere behind me, men grabbing my arms as I collapse.

OOOOOoooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

“John?” I croak out in a whisper. Thankfully I awaken enough to stop myself from really calling out to him. I’m in his quarters again. Alone and tied in the open box again. The room is cold, the house silent. I close my eyes and take stock of my body. Nothing too seriously wrong, no damage. Sighing, I calm my breathing and heartrate. It’s been a long day and I know I should rest. I think I manage to sleep fitfully.

An hour has passed, judging by the slant of light behind the curtains. It is a rustle of sound from the door that has awoken me. I hear John’s footsteps, alone and limping slightly in favor of his ‘injured’ leg. I sit up slowly and he’s instantly by my side, helping me. I moan and lean into his arms. Pointing upwards at two places in the ceiling I mouth the word MIC at him and he shows he understands. With his face alone he asks if there is a place we can speak in private. I indicate the bathroom.

I watch as John fetches his phone from his jacket hanging in the closet. He assists me to standing and supports me as we move into the restroom. Once we close the door, John opens an app on his phone that spews out is indistinct murmurs and groans of pain. It is over ten hours in length and never repeating so there’s no issue with anyone identifying a continuous loop. It will cover our speaking if we keep fairly quiet.

“I’m glad you were able to look around earlier,” John tells me at once.

“I need a shower, John. I’m hurting. I’m sorry,” I say, leaning weakly against him.

“No, no, certainly,” He states, apologizing and guiding me into the large tiled shower. “I’ll join you. Here stand still a moment while I get undressed.”

He turns on the water for me and I brace my hands on the wall, letting the delicious spray chase the pains away. Within moments he joins me.

The shower is so warm and sweet. I moan softly under my breath as it eases away the pain. I look to John and find John’s eyes are still distant, his emotions well shielded. He’s too concerned for me. I dip my head against his shoulder and nuzzle like we do at home. He’s stiff and non-responsive.

“I’m fine, John, really,” I try to reassure him. “At least I will be in a few minutes.”

“I’m not.”

God, I can see that clearly in his bearing and face. He seems closed down, still robotic even though we are together. “I see that, John. How can I help you?”

Tears stream down his face suddenly and I’m at a complete loss as to what to do. He’s started to cry in front of me plenty of times, certainly. In the past he would usually storm away from me and grieve in some quiet, private place. Now here he is, vulnerable and alone, standing inches from me. I nearly panic.

“What? Tell me, please. What am I supposed to do?” I cry out.

He covers his face in his hands and starts to sink to his knees. I grab him and secure him on his feet. I shake him gently, trying to rouse him from this strange reaction. I’m the one that is supposed to be having a difficult time here at the Club, not my strong Dom. Not John. He can handle anything.

“Please stop crying, John, you are scaring me,” I explain helpfully. His sobbing continues. Alright then, think, Sherlock. When you were this upset how did John support you? Remembering finally, I throw my arms around John in a bear hug. He melts against me.

“I’m scaring myself,” He whispers against my skin. “I feel so withdrawn. I can’t shake it.”

“Is the PTSD being triggered?” I ask even though I already know the answer. Of course it is.

His nod slides his face up and down my wet chest. “It hasn’t been like this in years. Almost as bad as when you were… dead.”

“I think you are too worried for me and for the other slaves, John. We can’t do anything to help the others right now but I’m alright. It was hard but not the harshest treatment you could have given me. I hope they don’t think you were too soft on me, in fact.”

His sigh is deep and sad as he comments, “I thought I had hurt you, really hurt you. I couldn’t continue. That’s why I knocked you out. I told them I’d continue your punishment… but I don’t see how I can. It’s like I’m facing this wall…this enormous obstacle… shackled… I can barely move or think.”

I squeeze his shoulders tightly and speak against his hair. I whisper in his ear, “You must go on with it, John. Or alert Mycroft we need extraction. There is no safe in-between, middle ground. These men are dangerous.”

He pushes me away to glare up at me, his eyes red and glassy. “I know that, Sherlock. I’m trying.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head vehemently- knowing instinctively I’d have to be the firm one here. The motion of my head sends droplets of water flying. “You are NOT trying! You are shutting down. Do this properly or get us the Hell out of here! I can do nothing for us alone.”

Anger enters his eyes and I regret my words at once. I know I’m hurting him again. But to be honest, his anger may burn through his shield of numbness. Against my heart’s wishes, I push a bit harder even as he starts to deny my words. I interrupt his impending speech with a raised hand.

“I know you don’t want to hear this… but you need to. Right now we need the badass soldier that survived two tours in Afghanistan. We do not… I do not need a loving, caring Dom. I need a Master that can drag us through this… to the other side of Hell.”

“I CAN’T!” He snarls, stepping away from my embrace. His eyes are flames locked on mine.

Ok, last ammunition I have. I don’t want to use it. This could be the end of something I love. But I have to use it even against my better judgement. It’s one last secret I have from John. I inhale deeply and launch into it. “John, I love you. Yes, I know- weird timing to say that. But I want you to know something I’ve never shared with any other person…”

He retorts with a sneer, “What? Another bloody damn secret? Why am I not surprised?”

I deserve that. I lower my eyes and just let it out of my heart. My hands are trembling. I’m uncertain of how he will react to this. “My deepest, darkest need, John. I’ve always dreamt of being someone’s slave…well, obviously now, YOUR slave. I don’t want the safe word or the signals. I want you REALLY to use me as you want, meet your desires.”

He doesn’t mock me as I expected. Even Mycroft doesn’t know this about me and it feels good suddenly that John is the only living breathing person to now hold that secret with me. John stands regarding me and even though I am the one in the warm water, I shiver at his look. “Well?” I ask when he doesn’t respond.

He throws his hands outwards to indicate the space around us. He spits out his words almost in disgust, “You want THIS? This, GOD AWFUL SLAVERY… I cannot do that for you, I won’t!”

I grab him by the hands and look him deep in the eyes. He’s hurting and afraid. At least that’s better than numb and robotic. “Not THIS. I mean consensual slavery, John, which is vastly different from what is happening in this place. A willing complete exchange of power is what I’m referring to. It may help you act as a Master if you know that is something I desire in my heart, deeply desire in fact.”

Again he takes a moment to think and that reassures me. After a moment he asks hesitantly, “You mean at home too? You want this kind of thing ALL the time?”

“How about we agree to this place, this moment and worry about home when we get out of here?” I state.

He is hesitant to agree. I must show him I am serious. I sink to my knees at his feet and put my hands behind my head. “Please, Master. I need this. It will help get us through this I promise, Master.”

I see his resolve crumble. He nods mutely and places a hand on my head for a moment, steadying us both. Finally, reaching over me he turns off the water. As he does so he says softly so that the mics in the bedroom do not pick up his words, “We’ll see. We’ll give it a try at least.”

He indicates that I should step out of the shower, tosses me a towel and turns off the recording playing on his phone with a swipe of his finger. He dries himself quickly and dresses again. I wait for him patiently as it only takes a few moments to flick my body dry. He slides a leather collar around my neck and murmurs his approval. Inclining his head towards the bathroom door, he turns and we exit the bathroom. John is ahead of me but before I enter the bedroom, he stops dead in his tracks. I can see why immediately. 

Sitting quietly in the leather chair by the far wall, a salacious grin spread across his face, with one hand petting his slave on the head as he kneels at his feet and the other twirling the leash connected to the man’s collar, is Moriarty. Fucking lunatic, world’s only consulting criminal, MORIARTY. We’ve searched for him for nearly two years and now here he is watching us, greatly amused.

“Oh look, Seb,” Moriarty quips lightly, enjoying himself at our expense. “It’s our friends, Harry and Sheffield. Hi, boys!”

He actually waves. The impulse to push past John and strangle the bastard are strong. I lay my hands on John’s shoulders to move him out of the way.

John stiffens beneath my hands and his arm shoots out to block me. When I glance at him questioningly he points up at the ceiling towards the hidden mic. He looks at me angrily, gestures to the floor and barks, “Get on your fucking knees, Freak or I’ll break your FUCKING legs!”

Moriarty’s damn grin spreads like a Cheshire cat. Then he feigns a sad face as a drop silently to my knees besides John’s legs. He pats Sebastian’s head, grabs a handful of his dust blond hair and turns his face so that he can see my act of humility. “Aw, Sebastian, why can’t you be that obedient, hmm? SHEFFIELD is becoming SUCH a good slave for his Master.”

“I’m sorry, Master.” Seb replies smoothly. He doesn’t seem that sorry at all.

Moriarty shoves him away from his knees, stands and dusts off his outrageously purple suit pants. He scoffs at his slave’s apology. “Oh, you will be, pet. Don’t worry.”

John growls, “What do you want? Why are you in my quarters?”

Moriarty pulls a face at John like an immature teenager. Spreading his hands and shrugging, he answers, “I just wanted to see you again, old friend. How’s London?”

“London is surviving without you just fine, Mor….”

“Master M, here in the States,” Moriarty corrects him quickly. He continues, “Isn’t it wonderful that our American cousins are so STUPID and EGOTISTICAL that they know NOTHING of the outside world? Convenient. For us both, Master Harry, for us both.”

“I suppose. That doesn’t answer WHY the fuck you are in my room! I was told I wouldn’t be disturbed.”

Tugging on Sebastian’s leash, Moriarty approaches us cautiously. Sebastian crawls at his side, his eyes locked on mine. I feel like growling at him to get him to back off. He smirks at my dark look and presses the side of his head against Moriarty’s leg. His Master’s hand scratches him on the top of his head automatically. I feel almost jealous at this. Not jealously for his Master but from the profound relationship it represents- a subservient nature that I still don’t quite have with John at home.

“Well, I am the Master In-residence, Master Harry, second only to Grand Master Brae so I may do as I wish. As to WHY I am here, I thought I’d check in on you and your new slave. Serve as the Welcome committee as it were.” 

John sounds tired, “I’m jet lagged, Master M. Other than that I am fine.”

Moriarty moves even closer. My body tenses to rise and deal with him should John be attacked but he stops just short of being within John’s personal space. Sebastian however is too close to me now. He snuffles like a dog in heat at my ear and I snarl. Moriarty laughs and tugs hard on the leash bringing his pet to heel properly at his feet again. “Ah, well, as my pet seems to need an attitude adjustment and I know you were planning to punish yours further- why don’t we carry it out together? For old times’ sake. Hmm?”

“If you insist, Master M but really...”

Moriarty ignores John’s reluctance and orders Sebastian onto the bed, face down. Sebastian moves swiftly to take the proper position without a sound of protest. I know John will not order me to lay by this bastard’s side. We are mortal enemies!

“Get up on the bed, Faggot! Move it!” John commands. A change has come over him He has made a decision.

I glance up at him in disbelief. I know I’ve reassured him that I want to be his slave but… well, I hadn’t meant for this! I want nothing to do with Moriarty and surely he understands this. The hard slap he delivers to my face nearly knocks me off my knees. I straighten, rubbing my cheek. It’s a good enough reminder of my proper place. I scramble onto the bed with my face burning in shame from failing John’s real first order as my Master. Moriarty’s dark laugh doesn’t help matters. I hate him more and more.

“Now, Sebby, you are a big, brave boy. Yes? So hold Sheffield’s hands above his head to help keep him still for my friend, Harry.”

I feel Sebastian hands slide over the mattress to mine and he grasps them firmly. I press my face into the bed, waiting.

“What do you have in mind?” I hear John ask. 

There’s a sound of something I can’t identify being removed from a tight suit pocket. Sebastian instantly tightens his grip so I know he’s identified the sound. It will be bad apparently if this BIG, BRAVE boy is suddenly so nervous.

“Here, I brought two. Thoughtful of me, yes?”

Self-righteous prick, I want to say. I feel John next to me, hovering. Moriarty has moved to the other side, next to his own slave. It’s a whistling noise that unnerves me and a heated pop across my ass that makes me shout in real pain. It’s a doubled piece of wire apparently and it makes a nasty slash on my skin. Sebastian jumps slightly and groans when Moriarty brings his own wire loop down. I’m suddenly thankful I’m being somewhat restrained for this. The pain is not subsiding like it would for a leather strap. It’s burning fiercely.

John and Moriarty fall into a rhythm then straight from Hell. If I wasn’t holding hands with Sebastian we’d both be covering our asses from the assault. Soon, I am writhing on the bed, sobbing and biting at the sheet in pain. Sebastian is reacting the same way. I kick my legs against the bed and try to get to my knees. At once I feel John’s hand pushing hard on the small of my back as he continues to lash at my legs.

“You will lay there and take this,!" He snarls. I try. I really do but as the wire loop strikes me over and over I am losing the battle to obey.

“Here, Master Harry, let me show you,” Moriarty announces like he’s in some sort of damn school room. He pounces upon the bed, sitting squarely across Sebastian’s back, securing him in place. I hear Sebastian’s cries increase in volume as his Master’s wire whistles down upon his defenseless ass and upper legs. He begins to beg. This pushes a button deep inside of me. I’m terrified suddenly and begging in my own right as John takes his position over my back, pinning me.

“Pleassssse! No, I’ll be good, Master!” I’m screaming as the hideous hiding continues unabated. My hands are suddenly free as Sebastian tries in vain to cover his ass or push against the bed. Moriarty gives him no quarter and John ignores my attempts to get up as well. I bury my face in my hands and wail as John pushes way past my boundaries. I’m his to command and believe me I never want to piss him off again!

The scorching punishment finally ends and Seb and I lay close side by side, sobbing and trembling as our Masters climb off our backs. I feel Sebastian slide over and a long leg crosses mine. I allow him to cuddle against me, our breaths hitching as the pain slowly burns through our skin and bones. I place an arm around his shoulder and pull him tighter to my side. Any comfort- even from an enemy- in a time of need is accepted gratefully. A gentle touch to my head causes me to pop an eye open. John is observing me. I see that Moriarty is rubbing Seb’s head as well. I blink back my tears, grab John’s hand and kiss it fervently with deep respect. I am completely his to own. Sebastian mirrors my actions with his own Master. 

“See, Master Harry, they will now both be well behaved pets… at least for a time.”

John nods silently. There’s no more stress or fear in his eyes. He’s immersed into his proper role now that I am in mine. We’ll be ok.

“Come, I need a shower, Master Harry. They will stay here, resting obediently. I want to discuss training matters with you.” Moriarty states lightly.

I’m only a bit surprised to see John incline his head thoughtfully and then follow Moriarty from the room. After the door closes behind them and the water starts a few moments later, I lift my head to look at Sebastian. He only shrugs at the question on my face.

“He likes hot showers, what can I say?” Seb whispers. He reaches out and touches my face softly. When I don’t draw away, he smiles at me. “You learn so fast. There’s no use fighting it. Just accept you are his slave now.”

I am. I accept it just as John has embraced his role.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I have GOT TO play more with Moriarty and Seb. Dang that was fun! And boy did Moriarty surprise me! Being all NICE and HELPFUL...WTF was that? He's up to something surely. Or maybe has turned over a new leaf? Yeah, stop laughing. Bad guys do that all the time. Look at Darth Vader. 
> 
> And did John GET IN THE SHOWER with him??? I don't know. They won't say! I swear John and M are over in the corner giggling like school girls. 
> 
> Thanks to my friend Minijaxter for the idea of bringing Sebastian into this with his master Moriarty. KISSES!
> 
> Did I mention HOW FUN it was playing with them all like that! It was some movie in my head!!!! Wish you all could have seen it.


	8. Beginning of Day 2, Before the Club Awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally get to communicate their needs. With Moriarty and Seb in the picture, they will need to stay wary.
> 
> What does the criminal mastermind want? Why is he helping Sherlock stay undercover?
> 
> Oh, who knows? He's crazy.
> 
> I repeat: This has elements of slavery and non-con. John and Sherlock are undercover and being watched.
> 
> I don't condone the non consensual activities. It's a work of fiction. Not my characters. Just borrowing them to play with.
> 
> Please heed TAGS:   
> #Whipping, dominance wrestling, rape, cutting... and MORIARTY/ SEBASTIAN/SHERLOCK non penetrative sexual contact- not a relationship but they do touch, cuddle... 
> 
> If you see something to tag please tell me.

Sherlock:

In the bathroom, alone with John again finally, I ask softly, tentatively, “What did the two of you discuss?”

John shrugs almost casually. He’s very calm considering we were just locked in the presence of a raving lunatic and his devoted partner not twenty minutes prior. He glances at my reflection in the mirror as he washes blood- my blood- off the wire loop in his hands. “He said he won’t reveal our identities.”

“If?” I ask. I know there must be a condition on which this all hangs.

Sighing, John shakes off the loop and dries it on a hand towel. He tears open an alcohol towelette package and wipes it with this as well. “IF we go along with whatever it is he has planned. Don’t ask what the Hell that means because I don’t know exactly. He says he will not reveal us, harm us or interfere in your investigation of the murder IF we simply does as he asks until we are extracted.”

It’s my turn to sigh, “How magnanimous of him.”

“Oh I agree, Sherlock. He is UP to something but I don’t see what we can do about it. He has us by the balls… literally… not figuratively.”

He turns to regard me. There is something just a touch harder in his bearing and look. What we have gone through here has already brought a change. I’m certain this is his military background coming into play now, not his sweet Dom nature. He has a mission and he’s determined to get us through this. I feel much better. I’m certain I will feel safe entrusting my life in his hands. I feel the desire to submit to him even now but that can wait. We have such little precious time to communicate. I mean we can’t live in the bathroom forever.

“He said that the next gathering will be at 8 am. He’ll come for us himself and he’ll work with me on stage… drop that look, Sherlock. We don’t have a choice in the matter and he’ll work with Sebastian, not you, in any case. I made it very clear to him that I would rather die than see you fucked by anyone else and I will defend us- the case be damned!”

I snorted, “Took that well, did he?”

“He’s insane, Sherlock or just so bright he can’t control himself. In any case, he laughed it off with a shrug and said he’d expect no less of an adversary.”

“I don’t trust him.”

John scoots around me to look at my backside. I twitch when he touches the welts there. “I know you don’t, Sherlock. Neither do I. But he could have easily alerted the Masters and did not… yet… let’s see what happens. Stop squirming away, I need to clean this with antiseptic. Back into the shower.”

“Speaking of shower…”

“Nothing happened. He stripped, showered alone… we had our discussion around the door frame. NOTHING happened between us, Sherlock. I will NEVER, EVER be with anyone else but you.”

Reassured, I enter the shower and hand him the Hiba-Cleanse foaming soap as he turns on the spray jets. The water and application of foamy bubbles brings tears to the corners of my eyes from the sting. John is as gentle as he can be but is thorough in cleaning it all. 

He tisks at me like you might at a disobeying child, “Hopefully this won’t get infected. But you do look well punished now, I must admit.”

I look him in the eyes, uncertain, “Not enough for the offense of murder, John.”

He grabs my chin and yanks my head forward in a kiss. Speaking around my lips he shushes me then reiterates, “Moriarty mentioned that too. He said he will handle it in the morning. So let’s get this cleaned and get some rest. I simply cannot handle any more worry for today.”

“I trust you, John… Master.”

With a curt nod, he turns me back around and cleans me with a second round of soap. Once he is satisfied I am not bleeding any longer, he dries me and leads me silently into the bedroom.

Climbing into the large bed after me, he holds me close and whispers in my ear, “I love you, Sherlock Holmes and I plan on marrying you when we get home. Just you remember that.”

I nuzzle my head into his hair and whisper back, “Is that a threat?”

His body trembles as he tries not to laugh out loud. Instead he says softly to me, “You are an idiot.”

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Sherlock:

I normally don’t sleep very well, just my nature, I guess. But I am startled awake the next morning by a knock on the bedroom door. John is already sitting up in bed next to me, gun in hand. The man has lightning reflexes. He relaxes somewhat when he remembers where we are and what is supposed to happen. He gives me a look that sends me scurrying to the floor- a more proper place for a slave- then he tosses on a robe to answer the door. As promised (threatened?), it is Master M and Sebastian in tow on his leash.

“Good morning, Master Harry!” The maniac announces happily. He hugs-actually hugs- John who to my relief makes no move to embrace him back. 

“How much time do I have to get ready?” John asks firmly, taking a step backwards. Moriarty’s smirk becomes a leer as he catches sight of me. Unlike a true slave, I glare back at him. I don’t realize my mistake until John, in Master mode, spies me being disrespectful and rounds on me viciously.

He grabs my hair and drags me, whimpering, to Moriarty’s feet and shoves my head upon his shoes. “Start licking, Fuckwad, or I’ll break your fucking nose for being disrespectful!”

A chill runs down my spine at his tone. He’s not playing around. He’s holding my head in place with my nose pressed hard in the expensive Italian leather. Moriarty’s chuckle is deep and wicked. The desire to kill him is so strong it makes my body tremble in rage. His fucking pet, Seb, is hovering over me, I feel his presence watching me. I’m certain if I do give in to my base instinct and try to harm his beloved Master in any way, he’d be in between us in an instant.

I swallow my pride and lap at the lunatic’s shoe. As I do so I feel John’s pressure against my head begin to lighten. Finally, he stands up and steps back. I feel his eyes upon me still. I press my tongue to leather and do a better job just from wanting to please him. It doesn’t matter if this is Moriarty, George or some stranger. I’m doing this because John has ordered it. Somehow it makes it ok. John will be pleased with me.

When both shoes are cleaned, I lay my head at Master M’s feet and wait. Both Masters ignore me as they talk over the day’s schedule above me; their voices becoming almost white noise. Sebby however takes an interest. I guess he’s bored. He snuffles at my hair and growling possessively, actually manages to get me to back away slightly from his master’s feet. I risk a tiny sideways glance at him. Seb snarls at me and then rubs his head against Moriarty’s leg like a big cat. If I wasn’t afraid of John’s wrath I would have laughed. He then leans down and cleans off both shoes as though he can’t stand MY scent on his Master’s footwear. I roll my eyes. Whatever, dude, you are crazy. Except when I think about it, he’s showing a deep, profound connection with his Master. I want that. I skootch my body slowly to John’s and press against him. His hand scratches my head as he talks a few last details over with Moriarty. 

Finally, John calls me to follow him into the bathroom so that he may get dressed. I hear Moriarty give a command to Seb to sit so I assume the Master will wait in the chair by the window again. In the bathroom John graciously allows me to rise and use the facilities as I need to- I’m grateful for this simple act. Most slaves end up having to wet themselves or their cages. A toilet is a luxury and to be allowed to clean yourself- your hair, your teeth and your own body without someone causing you more pain and humiliation is almost unheard of. John showers and dresses himself in a lovely suit that makes me drool. My Master is sexy as fuck and strong; exuding command and military style leadership. 

He leads me from the bathroom and when we enter the bedroom, we again stop short. Moriarty has Sebastian over his lap and is smacking his flinching ass hard. Seb is taking it remarkably well considering he’s being hit at such a quick pace with no time to recover.

“Hmmm, get out of hand again?” John inquires smugly.

Moriarty glances up at him and shrugs, “He’s been pushing for petting too FUCKING much for my taste! He knows better! I think he’s just a bit jealous of your slave and he thinks he deserves more of my attention. Well, now you have my FULL attention, PET. You’ve been quite a naughty dog! I’ll pet you and give you my attention when I FUCKING WANT TO!”

Seb hangs his head at his Master’s words and trembles as the hiding continues. His ass is a dark red and anyone, even a pain slut with a high tolerance of pain, will give in to the need to move and beg. I’m correct. Seb begins to kick his feet trying to cover at least his sit spots from his Master’s harsh blows. Of course it’s no use. Moriarty simply pins them with his own leg. “Stop that struggle at once! Or I’ll get out the metal loop!”

Seb howls in fear at the mention of that implement and even I shiver at its mention. I turn my head away from the sight and bury my face in John’s leg. With a grunt, he corrects me by shoving me away with his leg. “You’ll watch, faggot. This is a good demonstration of the level of absolute obedience I expect from you!”

Sebastian is struggling to stay still over his Master’s lap now and as he cries out, he clutches at the chair’s leg in desperation. I am forced to observe his punishment and I am feeling torn. On one hand, this is an enemy and I feel he deserves this pain and far worse. On the other hand, he’s a fellow slave and I feel for his suffering. I find that I am whimpering softly as I watch Seb’s submission. Finally, he’s collapses across Moriarty’s lap and sobs uncontrollably. A few harsh swats later, it is over. Seb stays in place, covering his face in his hands. It’s unnerving to see such a big, strong man utterly destroyed by a simple over the knee spanking. Moriarty does nothing to soothe him and rather abruptly tips him off his lap.

Seb crawls away to the corner, his head nearly touching a wall, and continues to cry in misery. God, I’m shaking. His pain- and yes, his abject sadness at failing- is triggering my fear. I feel when Master M’s attention is on me and I back towards John’s protection. Moriarty’s laugh sounds so cruel. I know that’s maybe just MY perception, being naked on the floor colors everything darkly but it makes my skin produce goose bumps instantly. His voice drips with poison, “Come here, FREAK, I think you could use some color on your ass as well.”

He can’t mean me. I know he does. I risk a tiny fraction of a second look up at John. He’s not even surprised by Moriarty’s order! Perhaps they had discussed it already at some point. Since John does not utter an objection or counter order I must obey. My whole body fights me as I creep forward on my hands and knees. Tears are already falling. I’ve faced this man in life and death situations! Now here I am submitting to his will. I feel gutted and terrified.

Seb has turned his head and is watching me as I take my place ass up over his master’s lap. There is an internal hurt there; I see tears of frustration and anger join the ones from the spanking. He’s completely, insanely jealous. His master has noticed of course. He calls over to him sweetly- sickeningly so, “Come here and hold this slave’s hands for me, Pet. He’ll need your help.”

The slave is instantly at his Master’s side, enjoying at least the chance to be helpful to him, I’m sure. Sebby grins at me. Great. I’m in the hands of two maniacs and willingly so. I hear the wire loop being withdrawn and John’s quick draw in of breath. I know instinctively from this sound from my lover that he will allow its use on me. He doesn’t want to but he must permit Moriarty to really hurt me. My fear knows no bounds now.

“No, no, please!!!” I scream out. He hasn’t even struck me. Seb struggles to keep his hands locked on my wrists as I pull at my arms and push my feet against the floor.

“Give me that,” I hear John command to Moriarty. When the loop strikes me over the sensitized flesh on my ass cheek I know it is being delivered by John himself. Moriarty presses downwards hard on my shoulders as John continues. “You WILL (smack) Obey (smack) Master M (double smack)!” John snarls at me. 

“Oh God… Master, pleasseeeeee….I will… oh pleasssse have mercy, Master!” I can’t help it but to screech and beg. The pain is etching itself into my soul. I’ll do anything to have it end. Even if it means obeying my arch enemy.

After a dozen painful swats John hands the wire loop back to Moriarty. “You’ll need to beat him into submission, I’m afraid, Master M.”

Oh God. I don’t want to submit to Moriarty. Please. The loop descends again drawing out a long howl of misery. I’m drowning in tears as Moriarty beats every square inch of my ass and back of thighs. Each time I think surely he must take pity on me- I can’t scream any harder- he delivers each blow expertly finding new ways to add to my torment. Soon, I can’t even scream, my throat is too dry. It’s a strange animalistic sound being torn from me. I don’t even realize when he’s stopped. Seb is suddenly whispering in my ear that it’s over, to stop gasping, to breathe again. Moriarty pushes me off his lap unceremoniously and stands. Kicking at us to get us out of his way, he steps towards John.

“Leash him so we can go down to the Hall and get some food, Harry. I’m starving now,” Moriarty cheerfully announces to John.

Within a few moments, a collar and leash are locked around my neck and find myself hauled out of the bedroom by John’s firm tugs. I follow meekly.

OoooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooo

Sherlock:

Seb and I kneel face to face on the stage, faces tear stained and eyes swollen. The handlers nudge us closer and when my body makes contact with his I allow myself to lean upon him just a bit. He snorts softly into my ear but doesn’t say anything. He’s used to this harsh treatment and I’m not.

Our Masters have wandered off in search of food from the kitchen and we’ve been left here to be prepped for their use later. Loops of rope bind us and keep us on our knees. Our ankle cuffs are secured to bolts in the floor. We are going nowhere. As soon as the handlers finish they too leave the stage. Alone now, Seb and I have complete privacy finally.

“What the Hell is Moriarty up to?” I hiss into Seb’s ear incase there’s a hidden mic nearby.

He wiggles a bit until he can look at me without being directly face to face, “How the Hell should I know! My Master does not reveal plans to me!”

He’s talking at a normal level so I decide it must be safe to hold a conversation. I give him a good hard, angry stare as I retort, “Oh come on, Sebastian! I know you two are close! He loves telling you secrets. Makes him feel all BIG and IMPORTANT. Keeps you under his power, knowing that you’d better never try to leave him!”

Seb scoffs, “Why would I LEAVE him? I love my Master!”

I frown. Of course he does. It doesn’t take a Master Deducer to observe that! I decide on a different tact. I tell him honestly, “Yes, I see that you do. Look, I’m not trying to kill him or even catch him. I’m trying to find a murderer.”

Sebastian seems reluctant to believe me. I add, “Help me locate this person… Master Nicholas’s murderer… and I’ll see what I can do about calling off Mycroft.”

“You’d let us escape?”

Hmmm, tricky question. “If I am able to, alright?”

 

“Ah,” Seb answers, “But what if MY master is the murderer?”

“He’s not, Sebastian, I know that already.”

Seb seems intrigued and cocks his head. “How do you know this?”

“That’s an elementary deduction, Seb. One, he’s known for bold choices of weapons like bombs in public places; loud, expensive guns. This was one was silenced. Two, he always wants the spot light- has elaborate, almost crazy plans- this was a simple gun shot and the murderer hid within the group. Third, he informs his intended victims ahead of time… he LOVES to make them suffer and fret, remember? He’s not the murderer THIS time. Not his style.”

Seb smiles fondly as he considers my words about his Master. And people say I’M a FREAK?? “True. He does love his LITTLE productions, doesn’t he? Oh and I should point out, he has someone else pull the trigger… me, he has ME shoot the target. So you are correct, Sherlock… WE didn’t kill Master Nicholas.”

“Then I need help finding out who did. Any way that you ask among the other slaves, Seb?”

He nods slowly, thinking. “I can get to a few of them. Most stay within their Masters’ room but… Master lets me ‘play’ with a few of them. I’ll try.”

“You’ll need to do it today,” I tell him.

“Oh? Going somewhere soon?” he snorts. It makes me very uncomfortable.

I’m about to tell him off when we hear the door to the hall swing open. I drop my head to his shoulder and sigh. I feel him shake in mirth at my dread. The bastard.

John is back. I hear his voice amongst the group. My world is alright again; at least for the time being.

OOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooo

“Oh Look at our slaves, Master harry! They look adorable together. Why I think they may even LIKE each other!” Moriarty crows. His eyes are locked on us like a hunter. Seb groans at his his words. I want John to smack that mad man in the face. I know he can’t, still… nice to imagine.

“Makes it easier to work them both over, I suppose,” Says my beloved John. I’m afraid to look at him to see if he is acting or if perhaps he is starting to like this role of his a bit too much.

Moriarty apparently agres with John. He announces, “Indeed it does! Let’s give them a good flogging, what’s say you, Harry, before the other Masters arrive?”

What’s the point of this, John? I want desperately to ask but I already know the answer. Keep the consulting criminal close and busy. I just wish we didn’t have to use MY body and humiliation as his damn entertainment. They’ve lifted long, leather floggers off the hooks on the walls and as they approach I see both implements have metal beads tied onto the long, leather tails. 

Seb looks at me with mock concern. How sweet of him to worry. Leaning close, he whispers in my ear, “Oh, now THOSE hurt. The marks they leave are impressive. It will add to the illusion that you’ve been well punished but not add risk of permanent damage.”

I grunt when the first blow from John’s flogger lands across my shoulders. I hiss out to Seb, “I realize that, Captain Obvious.”

Moriarty has caught our exchange and chuckles. Instead of flogging Seb, he produces a ball gag and shoves it into his slave’s mouth rather roughly. Turning to John, who hasn’t stopped his assault to my back, he remarks lightly, “I think you’ll need to gag Chatty Cathy there, Master Harry.”

“He’s usually silent,” John answers.

As John retrieves a ball gag for me, Moriarty pets the side of my face. He’s grinning at me again and I swear he needs to be punched. “Oh, I know the DEAR boy is usually silent. But you know, with a LITTLE friend at his side, he’s down right verbose!”

John ignores this obvious dig and gags me. I hate that Seb sees me drooling. I don’t know why I’m finding this intensely mortfying, even more so than being hided over his Master’s knee. John grips me by the elbow as if to steady Seb and I before he proceeds to flog me and it takes a moment for me to realize that he’s asking my condition in our pre-arranged code. Seriously? How do you think I’m doing, John? I’m fucking naked in front of my nemisis, I’m bound to his freak of a henchman and you are about to flog me into oblivion. I’m Fucking peachy! I cough three times. RED.

He backs away and I hear the flogger swoosh back over his shoulder and the loud crack it makes as it descends against my back is deafening. The pain is sharp bite as the metal and leather impacts already strained, torn flesh. I swear there is a fire started and I can do nothing but endure as it quickly spreads.

Seb bangs his head against mine when Moriarty joins in the fun. His slave almost looks apologetically at me. In a moment I can’t really see him, notice how he’s doing because the pain has fogged my vision. I’m just a big stretch of smouldering meat. Seb is groaning loudly and wriggling under the blows and I find our bodies are locked in a strange sort of dance… one that, after a period of pure torture, is starting to feel good. I feel his cock harden between our bodies and his sounds have changed into deep, guttural moans of half pleasure, half pain. 

“Hmm, my pet is enjoying his special treat but yours, Master Harry, needs some help.”

No, I don’t WANT help! But in a moment, before John can protest, Moriarty is kneeling beside Seb and I with a bottle of lube in his hand. I’m hoping John will ‘accidentally’ hit him with the leather but of course, there’s no such luck. John is probably watching since his flogger has fallen silent and still. There’s the usual pop of the lid opening and then I feel Moriarty’s hand squeeze between our bodies. His hand must close around Seb’s cock because the henchman hisses in surprise. He’s very hard and close now aftr this treatment. Next, I am manhandled. As the lubed fingers tug at me I feel the shame burn it’s way to my face. My traitorous body responds to him in hunger.

“There we go, little doggies, that’s better.” Moriarty purrs. He wipes his hand off against Seb’s face and stands.

Soon the flogging continues. Each stroke makes us writhe our bodies together as we seek to avoid the next blows. I feel like I have a fever and the only cure is rubbing against Seb’s tethered body. John has, over the past few years, become a Master at flogging. Now he’s made it into a damn art form apparently. The flogger is seeking out new tender spots and revisits the places of fire and destruction. He moves it smoothly, in a strict pattern I know well. Knowing where I’ll be struck helps ease the fear; helps me reach beyond the vail of tears and suffering- helps me soar. The pleasure of sliding my hard cock against Seb’s belly is sending me to the moon. He’s right there with me. I hear our sounds reaching a fever pitch together. He cries out first, “Master, PLEASssse may I cum?”

I can’t even manage that. My cock spurts forth ropes of jism even as I catch Moriarty’s answer, “No, you may FUCKING not, whore!”

Seb cannot hold back. He drops his head on my shoulder and grunts out his pleasure. His warm seed joins mine. Moriarty knows that Seb has disobeyed him- MADE him disobey him- the bastard. The flogging continues. I have no idea when it will stop. Seb and I are soon leaning bonelessly into each other, sobbing as the misery reaches a climax neither of us can endure. It’s too much pain even to enter subspace. 

I hear the flogger descending long after it has stopped. It’s purely in my imagination but I flinch just the same as being struck by it when John touches the back of my head to grasp the gag. This round of torture has thankfully ended. I pray for a moment to catch my breath and adjust. I’m certain Moriarty will not give it.

Clapping draws my attention. Grand Master Brae stands beside the edge of the stage with two slaves kneeling at his feet. He smiles in a similar fashion as Moriarty; all teeth and false sincerety, “Good to see the pig being put into its place, Master Harry.” 

“I TOLD you my FRIEND, Harry just needed a familiar face to put him at ease, Brae!” Moriarty says almost jovially. I can imagine his hands spread in the air in front of him in that little WORSHIP ME move he makes. 

“Indeed, M has been a tremndous help, Grand Master Brae. I don’t know what I’d do without him,” John answers dryly.

Have a peaceful damn life, I think, that’s what we would have without him! But the three masters are not really paying attention to us. I glance at the naked men on the floor. One is lean and smooth, his hair cut military fashion and he has distinctly Russian features. The other is broader and thicker limbed with a Black Irish coloring. Both are manacled at wrist, ankle and neck. The taller one has a blackened eye and his companion has fresh cuts to his face and neck. I’m certain they are not here at the Predators’ Club consensually. 

“The others will be joining us soon but I thought perhaps we could have a little fun,” Grand Master Brae tells John and Moriarty. His tone implies a bit of a threat. “Let’s have a wager.”

“I’m game,” Moriarty replies. “What did you have in mind?”

“My boys against yours; a wrestling match. Whichever pair manages to subdue and fuck a member on the other team wins. We’ll give them… hmmm, twenty minutes?”

“And the wager?” Moriarty asks , interested.

“Should your pair win, you each may have your pick of my stock to be sold Friday at the auction. If I win, the two you must sponser next month’s Procurement and Shipment.”

John asks, “Which is how much?”

“As I’ve contracted for a small shipment of refugees from Serbia – a group of three new slaves- I’d say it will run me about $300,000. Barring any complications."

“Hmmm, not bad. I’ve seen the toys up for auction, Harry. Well worth the risk. I’m certain our slaves can out manuever them anyway.”  
Moriarty responds smoothly as though he were talking over a horse race.

I’m not surprised when John agrees. He has no choice. I catch Seb’s look at Moriarty. It is full of pride and longing. Well, at least I have the maniac criminal worshiper on my side. His desire to prove his Master right should prove a distinct advantage.

“Your slaves are not hard, Grand Master Brae and ours have just SHAMEFULLY enjoyed themselves,“ John points out. 

“That’s not an issue, we have sexual stimulants on hand. You’ll find what we need in that wall locker, Master Harry.” Grand Master Brae tells him.

I hear John move off behind me to my left and Moriarty leans over us, unwinding ropes and releasing the ankle cuffs as well. I give him a good strong glare when no-one else can possibly see- I know it’s a risk- but I’m sincerely incensed to be so helpless in his presence. If looks could kill, he’d be a blackened pile of soot by now. He flashes me his toothy grin, pats Seb on the head and grabbing his leash yanks him away from me. There is a digusting slurp as the cum fueled connection releases between us and Seb giggles under his breath. I can just picture him in the military, shooting people dead and laughing about it. But surely he wasn’t this level of crazy back then… it had to be Moriarty driving him around the bend. Moriarty has that gift with people.

John is back at my side. The needle jab to my neck makes me hiss and try to draw away from him. Too late, I remember my place. He shoves me onto my face from behind and angrily tells me off for the disobedient movement. Moriarty accepts a syringe and Grand Master Brae takes the other two from John’s outstretched hand. I rub my chin where I’ve knocked my head against the floor. I think John is taking his role perhaps a bit too seriously now. I mean he’s not going for a bloody damn BAFTA. 

A warmth spreads through my body and I moan as my cock hardens in response to the injected drug. Very quickly I’m firm enough to drive nails into the wall. I see that it has had the same effect on Seb and the other two slaves. Mr. Probably-From-Russia is impressively large when engorged. 

Moriarty picks up a set of handcuffs and orders us to present our wrists. As he hooks Seb and I together his smile is all Chesire Cat again. “Ohhhh, now THIS looks familiar!’ He crows in delight.

Kill him. Now. Please, John.

John makes no move to pull his gun out and shoot the smug bastard as I hoped so I resign myself to the fact that I’m either going to have to rape someone or BE raped. Great. And HOW is your day going, Sherlock? Getting fucking BETTER by the bloody damn minute.

I shake my head to clear this emotional cloud. I must stay calm and plan out some sort of strategy. I don’t intend to be someone else’s sexual relief. I can’t talk to Seb but perhaps he’ll undertsnad a few facial expressions. Our eyes lock and he finally nods. We watch as Grand master Brae’s slaves are prepped with their own set of handcuffs.

Grand Master Brae announces to us as we take our places facing the other pair, "You have twenty minutes to subdue and rape at least one member on the other team. If neither pair succeeds, then all four of you will suffer severe consequences!”

Moriarty is looking at his watch, “Go!”

I don’t know what Seb’s plan is, except perhaps he intends to use me as rape bait. He waits until both Russia and Ireland have gotten their hands upon my body and are taking me down hard before he makes a move at all. Underneath their sweating bodies it’s hard to hear but I manage to catch Moriarty’s chortle just the same. He shouts out to his pet, “Come on, Sebby! Although I’d love to see him raped too, do give us a good show!”

Hard fingers are grasping everything on my body- pinching, pulling and trying to open me for access. One arm crosses my throat while it’s owner tries to rut me like a buck in season. Angrily I bite the next hand that nears my face and earn myself an elbow in the belly for the effort. 

It’s an amazing quiet affair, this attempt at rape. We are grunting and panting. I decide to Hell with being silent. I’m going to be a victim here in a minute if Seb doesn’t help me. “Come on, Seb. Get this ass off me!” I snarl at my ‘partner'.

When he does help he nearly rips my arm off with the handcuffs. I scream in pain as he wrenches my arm behind my back as he attacks the Russian. I catch a look from him and he remarks nastily, “Keep up, BITCH! Jesus, I feel like I’m tied to a fucking worthless tree stump!”

“Coordinate,” I snarl back.

“Fine! You speak Italian, right?” He asks. When I nod he adds, “Fucking Awesome! Finally someone intelligent! Switch over to it then!”

He starts to bark orders in Italian and I follow them as best I can. He’s grasped Russia in a knock-out hold and tells me to punch the Irish slave hard in the throat. I slam out my hand but it’s the one attached to Seb’s wrist. His glare could literally slay a man. I correct my mistake and strike with my left. The slave’s eyes bulge as he fights to catch his breath.

“Ten minutes,” Grand Master Brae warns us. 

“Help me TAKE this one! I assume you are too PURE to want to rape that one so HELP me!” Seb orders. I comply. I help him flip Russia onto his belly and put my weight onto his shoulders.

Panic can give a person an edge. The intended victim locks his teeth onto Seb’s hand and there is blood drawn. When Seb draws back to look at his injury the slave scurries away from us, dragging his semi-conscious partner behind him.

“Fucking ass, I WAS going to go easy on you… but NOW, I’m going to fucking nail you into the ground with my cock!” Seb shrieks in rage. There is clapping at this that I’m sure comes from his master.

Irish was coming around quickly. He scooted up onto his knees and directed the assault back onto me. Both he and his partner pounces upon me, knocking me flat and I hear Seb cursing as the handcuff bends his wrist. They kick him out of the way and put their combined effort into spreading me. I fight back hard but they have me pinned on my back with my legs lifted. My limbs feel like they are being torn off as my adversaries force them wide apart over my chest. When I feel a hardness at my hole I scream for Seb to do something. It is then that I hear a howl, inhuman and ferocious. Seb knocks them both off of me again and drag me behind himself as he gets to his knees on top of one of them. This time he has the Irishman pinned. I slam my head into the belly of the Russian and lay across him. Thus flattened he can do nothing to spare his mate.

“Sebby, pet, I suggest you get a MOVE on! You have two minutes left. DO NOT disappoint me again. You remember what happened the last time Master’s little pet FAILED?”

I watch the brute, Sebastian, shiver at his Master’s words. He easily flips his prisoner over and with a glob of spit to the man’s hole, he enters so roughly that the man screams in agony.

“30 seconds, Sebby. If you don’t cum by then, you’ll not cum again for a month!”

Sebastian’s movements become a blur as he tries his best to climax. Moriarty starts a countdown and I hear both the rapist and the victim’s sounds change. The former is close to climax, the latter is close to passing out from the agony.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Pull out, bitch. Too late. Too bad you couldn’t cum!” Moriarty snarls at Seb, grasping him by the blond hair and yanking him off of his victory hump.

Seb’s hips keep pumping wildly in the air and he cums then at his Master’s feet, shooting jism all over me and the floor. I flip him off but he just smiles smugly at me. Moriarty wrenches his head backwards and glares down at his slave. “Bad boy! You wasted that nut juice all over the floor!” He tells him. He spits into his face and Seb seems to revel in his Master’s anger. Nut job.

John has the handcuff keys and within a moment is pulling me free from the stage. He too has me by the hair. Being that my scalp is incredibly sensitive I am begging for him to stop. But his voice, berating me, is far louder than my whimpering complaints. He scolds as he drag me towards a a bondage table, “You didn’t even try! I’ll teach you to OBEY me, FAGGOT!”

He lifts his arm and tosses me towards the thing. Not wanting to add to his presumed anger I lay down upon it and spread my arms and legs to the chains at the corners. He swiftly has me pinned down and quaking nervously, I observe him picking up a knife. With one hand he sprays an antiseptic onto my inner thigh and with the other lifts the short, wicked looking blade. “I’m going to mark you with my initials and you’re going to stay quiet and take it!”

I want so badly to close my legs, to cry out but I do as I am told. 

Mycroft suggested the name Harry Warner to John in the first place as both names were already within his family history and they were even his normal initials. Very easy for John to remember. 

John can look me in the face without anyone seeing him from behind. He gives me a kind twist of the mouth that brings a sadness to his eyes. I know then his intentions. He’ll mark me. Yes, and that mark I’ll bear forever. But it is with HIS initials. He can later add a J before the H. I blink my consent. 

Calmly he carves two letters into my skin. H and then W. I grit my teeth for him, my eyes locked on his.

When he's finished, he cleans the area quickly and releases me. I drop to the floor by his feet and lay my head on his shoes.

“Well done, Harry. I think he’s finally submitted to your will! We can show off our pets to the others if you want. They should be attending within a few minutes.” I hear Moriarty announce.

In fact we can hear a commotion outside of the Grand Hall’s doorway. It swings opens but instead of one of the Masters it is a handler. The man is huffing out of breath and red faced. He gasps as he tries to communicate, “Sir, Ray needs you in the slave holding cell… he’s found our mole… he wants Master M’s help, Sir and yours… he said it’s urgent! It’s appears to be an undercover Federal agent!”

I glimpse the anxious look that John shoots towards Moriarty. 

So Mycroft’s informant was a planted agent. Great. Just what we need; someone that knows us and our mission here.

Grand Master Brae curses and looks to Moriaty for help. "What should I do, M?"

“Come along, Harry… My pet, Seb, is well versed in torture techniques and you are a doctor; you can keep the bitch alive for us." Moriarty announces as he grasps Brae’s arm and reassuringly tells him, “I’m glad Harry’s here. He’ll be a great service to us in this matter."

At our Masters’ beckoning gestures, Seb and I rise to our feet and trail after them silently. As John strides forward purposely he has one hand near his hip and I am thankful once again that he is a crack shot. We just may need his skills to get us out of this alive. 

What he doesn’t see though is that, Moriarty, behind him on his right, is also armed. I don’t know what the mastermind's plan is but I’m certain I won’t like it. I pin my eyes to his back and send forth as much hate as I can manage. I know we must rely on him now- and though I don’t like being in such a position- I know we’ll have to trust the maniac.

Or kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. I think they are in trouble now.
> 
> I don't see a way out of this.
> 
> I'm going to have to write that offshoot book with Mor and Seb. I'm loving on them!
> 
> Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be adding chapters as they are written. Kudos and comments always appreciated. Love to you all and thank you for reading.
> 
> I hope readers that tried to tackle this as book 2 of Consequences and Cases will understand... I love my sweet boys. I needed them to have a fun wedding. The John and Sherlock in this story are no longer in that universe. They have their own issues to deal with. I love them too. But in this way I can give them the room to be as badass as I need for this plot. Thanks.
> 
> As always, if I missed a tag, please let me know.


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